


Brotherhood: The Recruits

by name_me_regret



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Brotherhood, assassins creed, ezio auditore - Freeform, recruits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 192,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/name_me_regret/pseuds/name_me_regret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio Auditore da Firenze fought to erode the Borgia's influence over Rome and save its citizens, and at the same time recruit some of them into the Brotherhood. These are their stories as they join and ascend through the ranks to become Assassins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Desideria Donati

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came to love Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood due to the fact that I had a small army of other assassin's at my disposal. When I realized that they weren't just nameless npc, and some had distinguishable features, I became interested in creating backgrounds for them. The names come from the game, but their stories belong to me.

**Chapter One:** _Desideria Donati_

_Roma, 1500_

Desideria stared long and hard into the mirror as she tilted her head to the right before angling it to the left. Her light brown hair could be considered curly and quite pretty, but during a hot, humid day it got so frizzy that she didn't know what to do with it. She wasn't vain even when her mother constantly repeated how beautiful she was, or even when she had constant suitors that fawned over her. Truth be told, she was a tomboy than anything a young lady should be in Renaissance Roma. Instead of the extravagant flowing, long sleeved dresses that women wore; Desideria couldn't be swayed away from her trousers and shirts.

While other girls had been learning to cook and do housework, she was climbing trees and roughhousing with the boys. When she should be picking flowers and weaving baskets, she was learning swordplay and how to ride a horse; a pony, but same difference. So, when she grew frustrated with her hair getting frizzy, it was simply because on hot days it stuck uncomfortably to her neck and face and got all in her way. When she tried to put it in a ponytail it puffed up like a cotton ball and if possible, got even more in her way.

Thus was her dilemma that day since she had to go to the market and buy food, and wondered what to do with her headache inducing hair. Desideria wanted to just cut it short, just above her shoulders and be done with it. However, her mother had thrown a fit when she'd suggested it. The seventeen year old had half a mind to run away to live freely like the courtesans, but she didn't really want to sleep with random men for money. So, she was stuck with her family that was convinced that she needed to be married off; the sooner, the better. It was a miracle she'd lasted this long without being married off, but she had run off all her suitors. Although, this time it seemed she really would have no choice, since her father had threatened to send her to a nunnery otherwise.

Desideria had never been interested in marriage or even dating before. She had been adamant about learning to read and write despite her father's complaints that there would be no need for those skills once she was married. If it was up to him, all women would be illiterate, bare foot, and pregnant. Frankly, Desideria wanted to get out of Roma and see the world. There was nothing in Roma anymore besides pain and death now that the Borgia had taken control.

"Desideria! Where are you, stupid girl?" her father shouted from the living room. The young girl inhaled and exhaled softly before tying her hair back and marching out of her bedroom. She strapped her sword at her side as she went, and knew that not even her father would object to this. He knew how bad things had gotten since the Borgia had taken over Roma and literally made it a hell on earth. "You should have left ten minutes ago! By the time you get there everything good will be gone. Mierda, what am I going to do with you?"

The girl sighed and shook her head but preferred to say nothing. "I'll be back soon, padre." She kissed his cheek and hurried out before he could start complaining on her choice of clothing; again.

Desideria grinned broadly as she ran into the streets and quickly weaved in and around the people walking along. "Watch it, estupida!" she heard someone shout as she bumped into it, but instead of losing momentum she spun with the hit and kicked the near-by wall to balance herself once again. Desideria knew she was attracting too much attention, but she loved the feeling of the wind on her face when she ran so fast that her clothes whipped behind and around her. For a moment she wondered how it would feel to soar over the rooftops and tilted her features upwards.

She blinked as she suddenly saw a figure jump from across the gap of the roofs and stopped in the middle of the street in surprise. Desideria grunted as she was suddenly shoved out of the way, causing her to crash into some nearby crates. "Watch where you're going, stronzo!" she snarled, jumping back onto her feet. She flinched as she caught sight of the guards and paled when she realized they were Il Carnefice's guards.

Desideria bit her tongue as she was shoved into the wall, the taller man leering down at her. "What was that, tesoro?" he asked with a feral grin. She was hard pressed to keep from gaging as his rank breath polluted her nose. The guard tilted her chin up as Desideria clenched her hands at her side to keep from drawing her sword, since she knew that she'd die trying to fight against all five of them.

One of the other guards spat on the ground with a sneer. "Come on, Antonio! We don't have time to play around," he growled. The second guard adjusted the belt around his waist where his sword sheath was strapped to. "Il Carnefice wants this job done now." He lifted his hat, ran a hand through his dingy, black hair before replacing it on his head again.

The guard named Antonio frowned at the interruption but exhaled when he realized the other had a point. "You ruin all my fun, Marco," he complained. He turned back to Desideria and leered at her once more. "We'll be seeing each other very soon."

'No way in hell,' she silently vowed. By this point she was sweating nervously and her pulse pounding against her eardrums so loud she could scarcely hear the chatter of the crowd around her. No one so much as looked in their direction, and even if she were to be killed or raped in the main street would anyone lift a finger. The people of Roma were scared and beaten into weak cowards. Desideria herself was one such coward, since she had seen such scenes of obvious abuse and never lifted a finger.

He caressed her features once more before he stepped away from her and they all moved away once again. Desideria inhaled shakily before sliding down the wall as her legs gave out under her. She swallowed as she let her head fall back, and incidentally lifted her gaze to the building where she'd thought she saw someone jump. Her whole body tensed when she saw a figure poised at the edge of the roof, dressed in white robes and a pointed hood obscuring his features. He resembled an eagle that looked ready to take flight, and she felt his gaze piercing into her.

Before Desideria could make sense of the sight, he suddenly moved as he turned and disappeared from sight as a shout sounded around the corner. It came from the plaza where, incidentally, Il Carnefice performed his executions. She regained her feet and stumbled the few feet to see what the commotion was all about.

The sight made her despair once again, seeing the guards start to attack a man mourning a women that hung from the noose, long dead. Desideria was filled with outrage as the people around her merely watched and a knot of emotion lodged in her throat as she grabbed the handle of her sword. "If no one else will aide him, then I shall," she stated firmly; her shaking voice betraying her fear.

However, before she could act on her irrational impulse, a figure fell from the roof nearby to land one of the guards. The other four stopped in shock and glanced at their downed comrade as the man stood and removed his hand from the back of his neck with a sickening squelch to reveal a blade dripping with blood.

Desideria was startled from her own shock as one of the guards shouted. "ASSASINO!" Three of them lunged at the white robed figure, and she was shocked to realize that it was the same man she'd glimpsed staring down at her. The girl realized belatedly that he hadn't been staring at her, but at the guards.

'Was he following them? Is he actually helping the man?' she wondered with a desperate hope. She needed to believe that was the case; they all needed to believe or the fear and desperation would consume them!

The fight was over before she realized what had happened, the five guards all dead by the hand of a single man who fought like a demon with a single dagger against the guards' longer swords. Desideria tried to approach them, because she wanted to beg this person to teach her to fight like him; to give her hope in this hell. However, the people in the square had gone into a panic as the white robed figure had dispatched the guards and she was knocked aside several times as she tried to get near.

When she was finally able to make it to where the man was at the gallows, it was to see that the robed figure had disappeared. If she had looked up instead of searching from left to right, she would have seen the man climbing the cliff-side where Il Carnefice's house was located in the north-west Centro District.

"Mi scusi," she politely interrupted the grieving man. "That man that was just here, where has he gone?"

The sobbing man was on his knees in front of the wooden frame as he stared with pain filled eyes at the woman hanging above. "He said he would go deal with Il Carnefice, and to take down my sweet Livia when I was ready." He gave a wet, hysterical laugh. "How can I believe that? One man against all of his guards?" He buried his face in his hands, tears still spilling down his face. "He too will die like so many others. The way la mia amata was murdered."

Desideria glanced behind her at the dead guards that the stranger had killed almost frightening easily. "I'll help you bring her down," she said, strengthening her resolve. If this man had gone alone to try and kill Il Carnefice, then she could at least do this one thing against the Borgia. Even if the robed man failed, it wouldn't matter. If they didn't fight then they'd be further weakened by fear and uncertainty.

She moved to the steps to climb up as she removed the dagger from the hidden sheath at her back. The man, while trembling and weeping, climbed up with her and reached up to catch the woman's corpse while Desideria cut the rope. As he laid her down, her head snapped up as she heard shouting in the distance to the north-west. A figure running away from the cliff-side and across the rooftops caught her attention as he was pursued by several guards.

While Desideria watched, he outran them before jumping over the side of a tall building and disappearing from sight. The guards were bewildered and ran to search for him, and soon they lost interest before going back the way they'd come. It only took a few minutes for news to reach them in the palaza as someone; possibly a herald, shouted it for all of Roma to hear.

"Il Carnefice has been murdered!"

Desideria lifted her face toward the sun with a grin. Perhaps Roma was starting to change for the better.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roma - Rome  
> Mierda - shit  
> Padre - father  
> Estupida - stupid (fem)  
> Stronzo - asshole  
> Teroso - darling/treasure  
> Mi scusi - Excuse me  
> La mia amata - My Beloved


	2. Severino Sabelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm on a roll! Mostly, because I've been wanting to write these scenes for a while. Now, the next few chapters will just be of the Recruits before they join the Brotherhood. Essentially, the first fourteen (this will be explained later) chapters will be the introduction of the characters and either their first meetings with Ezio, or how their lives were changed or made better due to Ezio. Also, I forgot to put the disclaimer on the last chapter, but I'm not going back to change it. I'm lazy like that, lol However, you all know I don't own Assassin's Creed; it's sad...but true.

**Chapter Two:** _Severino Sabelli_

The young man sighed as he ran a hand through the sweaty strands of his black hair as he straightened while making sure the stand was set-up the way his uncle had instructed. His uncle, while very whimsical on everything, was actually pretty anal on how the stand was suppose to be set-up. There weren't many stands in this part of the city, since they lived in the Antico District.

In this place the houses were more ruins than actual descent dwellings, but he wouldn't live anywhere else. From his window on the second floor he could lean out and to the left see the Arco Di Tito. It was some famous arc that was built by some emperor whose name he couldn't begin to remember. He wasn't too educated in such things and could read enough to get him by, and could write as well as a modern day third grader. Beyond that was the magnificent sight of the Colosseo, which he had never entered since he was busy working all the time.

Their stand was across from a man selling prime cuts of meat, which they bought on occasion when they had extra florins. Also, nearby was a doctor that was shouting for people to approach, "Come, don't be shy. I only wish to heal!" Severino didn't know whether to believe him or not, since the beak-like masks some of them wore freaked him out.

His head lifted as he saw a man approaching and quickly looked back to the stand to make sure everything was right. He had learned early on put every single thing where it belonged, and afterwards get out of the way. His uncle, who would be fifty soon, had quite the silver tongue. Severino, on the other hand, was clumsy with his words so did all the physical labor. He didn't really mind, since at twenty years old, he was in his prime. Besides, this had become their system since he'd come to live with the older man after his parents died when he'd been twelve.

Even now it hurt to remember, and could admit that at times he'd awaken from a deep sleep and still think he was in their home in Venice. Then his head would clear, he would remember the carriage accident that had taken their lives and would momentarily mourn them. The hole their absence left would surely never be filled, so he worked hard all day that when he fell into bed at night he'd be too exhausted to actually dream of those happier days.

"You're thinking too much, nipote," his uncle chastised as he came to stop beside him. His sharp eyes observed his handy work before nodding quickly and then turning his full attention on his nephew. As Severino gave him a half-sheepish grin, he sighed forlornly. He still remembered that night eight years ago when city guards had come knocking on his door. They'd had a sobbing twelve year old Severino with them, and brought the tragic news of his sister and her husbands' deaths.

They had been coming to visit him during the summer, and so he could see his only nephew again after almost five years. However, the horse that had been pulling their carriage had gotten spooked by a snake and bolted. They had been on the outskirts of entering Roma from the Central District and the rampaging animal had veered west. In a desperate attempt to save Severino, since they couldn't calm the horse, his father had flung him into a cart of hay they were passing. Moments later ―and he knew this because Severino had recounted it in between breathless sobs― they horse had taken a sharp turn as it hit a large rock so the carriage broke away from the harness attaching it to the animal. The carriage, along with Severino's parents, had tumbled over the nearby cliff-face.

"It's nothing, Zio Rocco," Severino muttered, jarring the old man out of his own memories. Rocco Martucci had never liked the man his sister had chosen for her husband, and more so since he was a Sabelli. The man's grandfather had betrayed their own grandfather due to greed, and caused them to lose any wealth they had. Their family suffered, and his own father had sworn that they would have their revenge. It never came about since his father had died when they'd been very young and the Sabelli had moved to Venice along with their three children.

During a business deal that would lead the man, Angelo back to Roma he had met his sister, Gabriela. They had fallen in love and since his father was not around to stop it, he had protested their romance in his stead. It hadn't stopped them and they eloped to Venice where they were married against both families wishes. No, he had never liked Angelo since he had stolen his only remaining family from him and taken her so far away. However, he couldn't deny that the man made her happy, and was a good husband and later, father. So, he had regretted his passing.

Rocco smiled and patted the young man's face. "Then please get out of the way," he said, causing Severino to laugh and move around to the back of the stand and out of sight. It pained Rocco how much Severino resembled his mother at times even when he was the spitting image of his father.

The morning passed quickly and they sold so much that Rocco believed they could splurge on meat that day. He stood from the small stool he'd sat on behind the counter of his stall and pushed it open so he could get out. "I think its time to pack up for the day," he called to Severino. He was still in the back of the stall and would only come out when he'd manage to make a sale so he could wrap and bag the item.

"Si, I'm coming!" Severino called. The older man shook his head as he heard him scrambling up and around and knew that he was mostly likely studying his scrolls again. While it was true that the young man was uneducated, he was quite adept at catching on. So, Rocco was sure that soon even his writing would improve.

Rocco grunted as he was shoved and stumbled to the side. "Do you not have any manners?" he demanded of the man, but the other only glanced at him and took off running. Rocco's hand instinctively went to his coin pouch and paled when he found nothing. "No! Bastardo has robbed us!"

He heard Severino gasp before he ran around the side of the stall. "Who? Where did he go?" The old man pointed out the fleeing thief before the younger took off like a shot. Rocco exhaled and turned to the stall, and saw the scrolls Severino had been reading unraveling behind the stall where his nephew had dropped them. There was nothing to do besides start to pack up and wait for the other to return.

 

"Give me back my money, stronzo!" Severino shouted. He was quickly gaining on the thief as he curled and uncurled his hands into fists. The other threatened to kill him if he didn't stay back, but Severino wouldn't be swayed. That money was their livelihood, and wouldn't let another steal it so easily.

Severino gave a roar as he tackled the gangly man, snatching back his uncle's coin pouch before standing and glaring down at the cowering thief. "Next time you steal from us, I'll cut one of your hands off," he threatened. He kicked him slightly to get him to leave as he quickly looked inside the purse to make sure nothing had been taken.

"What are you doing?" he heard someone shout. Severino cursed his luck as he saw three guards quickly approaching and wondered if he could out-run them, but quickly revised that idea. After all, if he simply explained what had happened then perhaps they would be understanding. However, it was very unlikely since the abusive guards seemed to enjoy inflicting humiliation and pain on them.

"I was stopping a thief that stole my uncle's money pouch." He failed to mention that if the guards weren't so busy harassing poor citizens, then perhaps they could concentrate on catching the petty thieves that robbed hard-working people like them on a daily basis. He didn't shout that if the Borgia would stop stealing more than fifty percent of what they earned then perhaps they, as well as all the citizens of Roma would be able to live a much better life.

"I don't think I like your tone," one of the guards hissed, shoving him back. Severino grit his teeth as he was pushed around by the abusive guards, since he knew that he had no weapon with which to defend himself if he were to attack or provoke them.

"Per favore, I did not mean any offence," he said in a placating manner. He needed to get back to the stand to help his aging uncle in packing up everything, and then lug it home.

"Then you shouldn't have opened your mouth." The guard made a grab for the pouch and Severino growled and shoved him away immediately. He wouldn't let anyone take what his uncle had worked so hard for!

The other man sneered and quickly drew his sword. "Stronzo! Now you die!" He swung his weapon and Severino hastily jumped back to dodge the attack. The young man had to do some quick footwork to avoid the blades of the other two guards that had decided to join in the action.

As Severino jumped back, he slammed into a panicking civilian who dropped what he was carrying before running off, and the unarmed man desperately grabbed it while wildly jumping away from an attack. He was bewildered to discover that his weapon of choice was a broom. The guards laughed at his predicament before attacking once more. Severino instinctively used the broom and swung it in a wide arc that nailed the closest enemy across the face. Rather than stand stunned as the other two, he lifted the broom and slammed it into the back of the dazed man's head, causing him to crumble to the ground in unconsciousness.

The two remaining men became angry and started to attack in tandem, and taunted him as they swung their sharp swords at him while avoiding his hasty swings with the broom. This went on for several minutes before a carefully calculated swing took the head of his wooden weapon as Severino stumbled back, tripped over the fallen guard and landed heavily on his ass.

Severino lifted wide eyes to the approaching guards and knew that this was the end, he was going to die. Just as the closer one lifted his weapon, the world was ripped asunder.

A huge explosion was heard and all three men's head snapped in the direction of the closest Borgia tower, which was commanded by the Captain Prospero da Siena. While they watched, the head of the tower erupted in flames that licked the Borgia flags so they burned until only ash remained. The two guards had rushed off in that direction while Severino watched in horrified awe.

Thus he was able to see a strange sight. A body, highlighted against the burning inferno, dressed in white robes and armor soared gracefully through the air before disappearing from sight. For a few moments Severino sat there stunned for several reasons. One, his life had just been spared. Two, that hated tower which had represented the Borgia's oppression over this part of the city was no more. Three, he thought that he might have seen a man, or perhaps some kind of eagle launch himself from the exploding tower. It was a lot to take in.

However, he was spurred into action as the unconscious guard groaned from where he was laying. Severino jumped to his feet as he flung the cut broom away, but paused before fleeing. He glanced at the other man before crouching beside him and searching over his yielding body. A moment later he was holding a dagger, a few throwing knives, and the man's sword and sheath strapped to his belt. If this guard or the others ever managed to identify him, then he'd be waiting. After all, now that the tower was destroyed they were essentially liberated from Borgia control, and Severino Sabelli ―though he had very little combat ability― would fight to keep their shop from falling into the Borgia's tyrannical control once again.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nipote - nephew  
> Zio - uncle  
> Si - Yes  
> Bastardo - bastard  
> Per favore - please


	3. Adele Sozzi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There's no real timeline to these stories, only that these happened before the mission "Man of the People", in which Ezio recruits his first apprentices. After the introduction of the characters, then we see how they came to be in the situations that Ezio had to save them from. Honestly, this feels a bit rushed but when the idea flows, one just writes.

**Chapter Three:** _Adele Sozzi_

The horizon was starting to lighten, and this is when Adele stirred from slumber and she sat up with a yawn as she stretched. Her back was sure to hurt later after having fallen asleep on the cot that was situated inside of the garden, but she didn't much care. After all, tending to these flowers was the only thing she had left after her parents flower shop had been closed down.

It had been a year after Alexander VI had taken the papacy, and many of those that had been against his being chosen began to mysteriously disappear. Although the murder's were made to look like accidents, muggings, and the draw of the cards; others knew better. One of them had been her father who owned several flower shops around Roma. The Borgia took control and started taking over desirable parts of the city and running out the owners of the stables, blacksmiths, art merchants, tailors, and even doctors. They were the major contributors of Roma's economy, and so people forgot the others that suffered. His father's flower stands were destroyed when he refused to move out and then he was murdered one night at his final stand. It was located in South Centro District, close to the Pantheon. They ―her and her mother― saved what they could and fled deep into the Centro District.

~o~

A smile lifted Adele's lips as she sat at the window seat after returning to her room, and let the scent of the blossoms flow over her. It was a small garden that her window overlooked, housed in by four walls and only accessible through a backdoor of their home. Their roof wasn't all that high but when she climbed the ladder resting against the next rooftop she could almost see the Pantheon in the distance. She missed their old home which had a larger garden and from whose roof overlooked the Piazza della Rotonda in front of the Pantheon. Every year on the anniversary of her father's death, she visited their abandoned home ―since the Borgia had taken it for themselves but never moved anyone in― and threw petals from the rooftop.

"Adele!" she heard her mother call. Adele moved away from the window reluctantly and quickly braided her long flowing light brown hair and pulled that up to pin at the base of her head. When that was finished she fitted a lace cap firmly over her head so her bangs fell over her eyes. Adele was satisfied with her look, since she took great precautions that she didn't dress or wear anything that would draw attention to herself.

Her mother hurried in front of her a few minutes later, since the morning grew late and they needed to arrive as soon as possible. Adele's mother was growing older and couldn't handle the housework on her own, which is why she went with her to help her as much as she could. After all, it was only the two of them that could be persuaded to clean the run-down courtesan building. This was one of the reasons that Adele made sure to dress as inconspicuous as possible, since she didn't want to be confused as one of the courtesans by the clients.

~o~

Adele sighed as she wiped at her brow where her bangs stuck to her forehead by the sweat. It was grueling work but the Madonna Solari paid them well because they were the only ones that would willingly come to clean. The courtesans said she was a liar and a cheat, but her mother had always been an outspoken woman. When she tried to cheat them out of their pay once, she had not only insulted and ridiculed her in front of the others, but had returned the Rosa to the sty that it was. Since that day, she had never tried to rob them of their money.

The young woman sat down with another inhale of breath and was grateful that they were finished. They always tried to finish before the afternoon, which is when they opened the doors of the Rosa in Fiore. Her mother informed her that years before the Borgia had taken over; the Rosa in Fiore had stood elegant and proud in the northwest side of the Centro District. Adele was hard-pressed to believe that the dilapidated courtesan building could have been anything but a run-down building.

Her head snapped up as she heard shouting and wondered what was happening. She'd been waiting for her mother to bring their lunch after getting their weeks' pay from Madonna Solari, which they would eat early before they headed off back home. Adele stood and made her way to where she heard the shout and broke out in a run when she heard more shouting and something breaking. "Mama?" she shouted as she hurried to the front.

Adele met one of the other courtesans, Giuletta as she ran away from the ruckus. "What has happened?" she asked as she grabbed hold of the fleeing dark haired woman. "Tell me!"

The woman fearfully looked back the way she'd come before another shake brought the words out. "Some men...they came and took Madonna Solari and Lucia!"

Adele's eyes widened in horror, and hadn't realized she was trembling by this point. "Where's my mother?!" she demanded, shaking her again. "WHERE?!"

Giuletta shook her head frantically. "S-she was talking with Madonna Solari when they came, and t-tried to help." The tears started spilling down her face and lifted her hands to show that they were strained in blood. "A-and they stabbed her. I-I'm sorry."

She didn't hear her last statement because she was running as her heart pounded in her chest and her blood rushing through veins was the only thing she could hear. Adele crashed through the side door that led into the main room and froze in the doorway. There was so much blood, and her mother's body was lying there so still. Then all she could hear was the sound of her own screams.

~o~

Adele lifted her face to the heavens as she bit back a breathless sob, and lifted her arms so she could secure the black veil over her long, flowing light brown hair. Her slender frame was clad in in a black dress, which swished around her as she climbed out of the window out onto the roof of their old, abandoned home. Adele crossed the roof and secured the basket she had with her to the ends of the rope that hung down from the higher rooftop before quickly climbing the ladder. When she'd arrived at the top she slowly lifted the basket until it came over the side, and then untied it before she perched it on her right hip.

She breathed in before letting it out on a sigh. "Buon giorno, padre, mama," she said with a watery smile. Adele strode carefully to the side of the building that overlooked the piazza that was in front of the Pantheon as the water flowing from the fountain gleamed with the early morning light. She reached over to open the basket to reveal pink flower petals, and she slipped her fingers into the silky surfaces of the petals. Adele flung her hand out and released them so they floated through the air, and watched them catch on the wind so they were carried across the open space of the piazza.

Adele repeated the process until it was raining pink flower petals to create a majestic sight. She watched them dance with the wind for a long time in a trance before a shout made her flinch. The young woman whirled around and she was filled with a burning anger when she saw a guard that patrolled the rooftops; a Rifleman. "What are you doing here, donna?" he demanded as he hopped down to her level.

She backed away as her hand moved behind to curl her fingers around the dagger she had hidden with the folds of her skirt, and her movement was covered with the veil that flowed down to her waist. Adele had learned later that her mother's murderers were part of the Cento Occhi gang, and they were Cesare Borgia's hired thugs. It meant they were supporters of the Borgia, just like the guards. They were corrupt and cared nothing for the civilians they were supposed to protect, and this particular guard wouldn't care that she was doing a ritual in memory of her father and mother. "Mi dispiace," she said hastily before rushing to the ladder, since she wanted to avoid a fight if possible.

Adele shrieked as the veil was grabbed and pulled back, and it came completely off as her hair whipped around her. The man paused as he caught sight of her, and when she turned a grin had lifted his cruel lips that made terror coil in her belly. "Well, I'm sure I can overlook you being up here...but for a price, cuore dolce," he leered.

The young woman threw the basket at him before she ran for the ladder once more and withdrew the dagger as she went. As she reached it, she grit her teeth and when she was grabbed and yanked back, and she twisted her body around and drove the blade into the guards' neck. Their eyes met over the distance, hers spread wide in wild anger and his in shocked realization. She yelled as she yanked the dagger out as blood splattered her face and dress, and his body dropped with a dull thud; twitching in its death throes.

Adele panted heavily as she stared at the corpse in shock, her body frozen in place and the blood drenched dagger clutched in her bloody hand. "Hey, what are you doing over there?" she heard a voice shout behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and knew that another Rifleman had found her, and she knew that he was aiming his weapon right at the middle of her back. Adele tightened her grip on the dagger as she slowly turned to face the enemy and had no idea of the scene happening below her in the piazza. Moments later a voice rang out clear in the morning air.

"This man is a worthless liar!" a man yelled. "The courtesans of Roma will never answer to him!" Her head snapped down into the open space at the same time the Rifleman glanced over as well. A man in white robes and armor stood over another fallen man beside the fountain. He crouched down momentarily before starting to loot the body and the Rifleman shouted before jumping down to confront the hooded man.

Adele stood there in stupefied amazement, since this stranger had inadvertently saved her from sure death. She glanced momentarily toward the corpse and wondered what to do with it, since the Rifleman would return. When she glanced down at the piazza, she saw that the stranger was being engaged by a dozen guards, but still dispatching them with ease. As if a light bulb had ignited over her head, an idea came to her. Adele thought that perhaps this one would be confused for one of his victims.

She bent down to wipe the dagger against the man's chest, over the Borgia crest before she returned it to the sheath hidden within the folds of her skirt. Her smaller hands grabbed hold of the arms and started to drag the heavy corpse to the edge of the roof as the clash of swords rang out in the city square below. A few moments later the sounds of battle were silenced and she glanced down in time to see the robed figure fleeing from the scene. Adele turned back to her task and when she got as close as she could, she moved around the other side and rolled the corpse down. It hit a fenced separator covered in vines before rolling off and hitting the paved ground below.

Adele quickly moved away so she wouldn't be spotted and after a moment spent catching her breath, she hurried to recover her basket. However, she paused before picking it out when she saw that it was too horribly splattered in blood. A shout from below alerted her of more guards approaching the scene. "Who has done this?!" Adele abandoned the basket and ran to the ladder before climbing down quickly. A moment later she entered through the window and there she tried to wipe the blood from her face. She didn't have any water and had to make sure it was clean before she went out into the streets since the door she'd entered through ―which was the only one able to open― would deposit her into the piazza. If the guards saw her with a bloody face then she'd be suspected of killing the guards.

Her fingers disappeared into the folds of her dress to curl around the dagger that she'd used to take the man's life. The experience had filled her with a rush of satisfaction, and it wasn't because she had enjoyed killing the man. She knew that by ending his life, than he, as well those slave traders, would never be able to harm another innocent person again.

Adele had heard that a man, in an attempt to save Madonna Solari, had gathered the random to rescue her. However, they had murdered the woman and then attacked the unknown man. She'd been told by Lucia ―the courtesan taken along with Madonna Solari― that he had killed all the men on the boat and then restored the Rosa in Fiore to its grandeur.

She would perhaps return one day to that place and see if she could find the person that had killed those that had murdered her mother. However, for now she had more pressing things to do. She wanted to try and open up the flower stand that her mother and she had been working so hard for.

Adele Sozzi wiped the tears that ran down her face as she sniffled sadly, since she knew she wouldn't be able to return anymore. However, all was not lost, yet. She lifted her head up high, and pushed through the door out into the piazza with determination. Adele knew that with the Borgia in control the flower stand would no doubt be trashed once more, but she wanted to try and hope that it would flourish. Adele wouldn't allow the Borgia to steal that away from her as well. After all, if she lost hope than the despair of being left all alone would consume her.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piazza della Rotonda- city square of the Rotonda (meaning the Pantheon)  
> Madonna - lady, milady  
> Buon giorno - good day, good morning  
> Donna - woman  
> Cento Occhi - Hundred Eyes  
> Mi dispiace - I am sorry  
> Cuore dolce - sweet heart


	4. Stefano Spallone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As I said, there's no timeline and can also be affected by the timeline of Assassin's Creed II (but not the first game, since it's too far in the past lol). This particular chapter is longer than all the others since there was a lot to write on this particular character for some reason.

**Chapter Four:** _Stefano Spallone_

His breath hitched moments before his eyes shot open, flinching at feeling something wrapped around him, but calmed moments later when he realized it was only the sheets of his bed. Stefano swallowed thickly as he tried to regain his composure, but the dream had seemed so real. The scariest thing was that it wasn't just a dream, but a memory.

The eighteen year old shoved his fingers through his longish, black hair that was sticky with perspiration, and sighed as he sat up. He knew that he wouldn't find sleep again and resigned himself to getting up and preparing for the day. Although, he paused and noticed that the sun hadn't even risen and exhaled in exasperation.

After washing his face, he stepped out the second story window and onto the roof. He climbed to the very top of the rooftop garden as the blood-red curtains flapped in the breeze. Stefano sat cross-legged as he looked across the rooftops of the buildings around him. He could see a line of light on the eastern horizon to indicate that dawn was approaching, and Stefano tilted his head back to observe the stars before they disappeared with the lightening of the heavens. It would be a beautiful morning, which would be filled with unjust atrocities caused by those that served the corrupt Pope.

Stefano chuckled sardonically at the term, since it had once been considered that the Pope was the holiest man on the planet; the one who spoke with God. He wondered how God would view the human race with such a man representing them. Frankly, he had started to lose all hope concerning the church, and with it he feared he was losing faith; in the good of man and life in general.

As the sun rose into the sky, Stefano inhaled deeply before letting it out with a groan. He glanced into the streets momentarily before starting to climb down from the rooftop garden, but paused as he spied a woman running below, and judging by her attire, it was obvious she was a courtesan. Stefano glanced the way she'd come and noticed it was from the direction of the Tevere, and he wondered briefly why she was in such a rush.

When Stefano had been a child, he remembered being somewhat of a coward. He would shy away from confrontation, and often let his older brother fight his battles for him while he read. Stefano wanted to be a scholar, and so his parents sent him to study in Firenze since it was closer to their home in the Appennine Mountains. It was a time in his life that was both wondrous and tragic, but that was many years past.

Now he was more reckless than in his earlier days, and this sometimes got him in more trouble than he was able to handle. Thus, his curiosity was peeked at seeing the running woman that looked to be short of straying into hysteria. When he finally managed to get down, the courtesan was farther than he would have liked, but still started to hurry after her. After a while, there was no need to follow so closely since they strayed into Centro District he knew that she was headed toward the Rosa in Fiore.

Stefano's nose wrinkled in disgust, since he disliked the Madame that ran the place. It was a rundown building and more often than not, the filth of the place was hidden underneath cheap perfume. He paused just as she turned into the square that the brothel was located in and shook his head. If there was anything he stayed away from, it was places like that. The way Solari and her brother, Santino ran it, the girls were likely to show signs of diseases and they wouldn't care.

The young man sighed and hurried back the way he'd come from. If he was lucky, then he'd make it to the Tevere before the sun rose too high into the sky. There wasn't much work for a scholar these days, since the people of Roma, who could read, weren't allowed to read anything that went against the teachings of the church, but really it was anything that went against the rule of the Borgia. This is the reason he had joined a group of scholars that copied the forbidden texts to distribute in secret to the people. He'd admit that it would mean they'd be accused of hearsay and surely execution, but he believed that people should have the freedom to read anything they wanted.

He was almost to Isola Tiberina when someone bumped into him from behind and growled in annoyance as his eyes shifted to land on the one that had jarred him. The man was wearing white robes and armor, and his steps were sure and steady as he maneuvered through the crowd. As he kept watching, he saw the man's hand dart forward and steal the coin pouch off another man he bumped into. A moment later, Stefano realized he'd been robbed as well when he checked and discovered that his own money pouch was missing. Stefano grit his teeth in anger before rushing forward to follow the stranger.

It was difficult to keep up with him, but when he lost him he simply followed the people shouting out about their Fiorini being stolen. He rounded the bend where a boat on the Tevere was docked. Stefano spotted the man that had stolen his money and would have charged in to attack if he didn't notice him getting on the boat. There were several men already on board and they held a woman hostage among them.

"Are you here for the whore?" one of them shouted.

Stefano squinted as he tried to make out the woman's features and they widened moments later when he realized it was Madame Solari. "Aiutatemi!" she screamed. Stefano was sure of it now, since he'd met her once before and her voice had annoyed him to no end. Of course, this didn't mean he wanted any harm to befall the woman.

"So, this is the reason he was stealing," he muttered as the stranger tossed a bag of coin at the one that had spoken earlier. Well, if the money was for this reason, then he wouldn't hold it against him. He stepped back so he could leave as the robed figure finally spoke.

"I have your money. Let her go!"

"No! Take it up with Cesare!"

Stefano stopped in his retreat as he saw the one holding Madame Solari slit the poor woman's throat, and then the rest of the slave traders started to attack the pickpocket. He quickly moved forward to help, since he knew the attackers were from the Cento Occhi gang; Cesare Borgia's personal bootlickers. However, Stefano stopped in his intention to assist when the man's movements caught his attention as he quickly and brutally defeated his many foes. He recognized this stranger's fighting style, but for a moment couldn't place it.

Then the robed figure jumped onto his last opponent and impaled a blade hidden in his arm bracer into the man's face. As he stood, he closed the dead man's eyes and then quickly started looting the corpses. Stefano finally recognized him, and although he never knew his name, his face and the memory of their meeting was branded into his memory forever.

~o~

_Firenze, 1497_

Stefano, age sixteen, lifted his head as he heard banging at the front door. He'd been so engrossed in his texts that he failed to notice how late it had gotten. Now that he bothered to recognize the hour, the adolescent wondered who could be at the door so late. Of course, he knew what was happening outside; he'd be a fool not to have noticed, and as they burned books, art, and things deemed 'sinful' in the streets of Firenze. This was the reason he'd stopped going outside alone, and then not venturing out at all.

Many had fled the beautiful city of Florence in fear of persecution, and Stefano would have done the same and headed toward his home on the outskirts of the city, but he was afraid. He didn't want to venture out into the danger filled streets only to be cut down by the soldiers. Stefano was sure he'd be the first target they'd go for, since he never went anywhere without a book on his person. Although, their objective was to burn books and anything that would further the Renaissance, the youth was sure they were beyond distinguishing at this point.

"Maestro, who is at the door?" he called, hearing an urgent filled voice, but was unable to distinguish any words. Stefano was about to venture out into the main room to investigate when his mentor hurried in followed by a man dressed in the customary mercenary garments.

"Stefano, we must flee at once," he declared as he hurried around; flinging scrolls and books into a bag. He noticed that the other wasn't taking any clothing, since those particular items were more important to him than mere clothes.

The teenager was shocked at his words and quickly shook his head. "No, I cannot leave now. My family...my brother is not here for me yet!" This was one of the main reasons that the man was even there, since he hadn't wanted to leave the youth to wait on his own for a brother that might not even show up. It was a perilous mission trying to get into the city of Firenze, and thus Stefano was filled with terror at the thought of going out into peril-filled streets without his comforting presence.

The older man didn't cease in his packing and then bullied him into doing the same. "There will come a time when you will have to stand on your own two feet, Stefano." He finally paused and set his hands on Stefano's shoulders. "You are a very smart young man, but you lack the courage to move ahead in life." His mentor started to push Stefano toward the door as he grabbed the bag he'd been packing. At the door he paused again, heedless of the mercenary's impatience. "Now is the time to decide, Stefano. Either you follow me into those dangerous streets, or you stay and hope the guards sent to set fire to my workshop spare you. What will it be?"

Stefano swallowed nervously at the poor choices, but knew without a doubt that they were the only ones. However, he also knew that only one held sure death. So, even with a heart filled with fear, he took up his bag and secured it over his shoulder along with a short sword that would surely not serve him much with his inexperience. "I'm ready," he confirmed, but wondered just how much he was truly ready.

They were aided by the cover of darkness, and made sure to steer away from the bonfires that sporadically littered several streets. His master had left most of his books and scrolls at the workshop in order to delay the soldiers sent to burn it to the ground; otherwise they may try to follow them. Stefano knew that he had taken only the most valuable ones, including a notebook that had detailed information where he'd hidden several of his manuscripts and paintings. The young man knew every location by memory, since he'd helped him hide them when they'd learned of Savonarola's wish to destroy the books and paintings that had to do with the Renaissance. So, even if the coded notebook was burned, the knowledge was safe inside both their heads. Stefano knew that made for a very dangerous position to be, but nothing short of a bludgeoning would wipe the information from his head.

The situation was growing grim as Savonarola's lieutenants started to tighten their hold on Firenze by starting to deprive the people of basic necessities such as food and clothing. This was because of those that were holding out on accepting the mad man's rule, and among those was his mentor. He was feeding the people the books and teachings that the monk was against, the glory of the Renaissance.

They paused as the night was filled with an ominous tolling of a church bell, and Stefano glanced at the mercenary that was leading them as he started to speak with his mentor in excited whispers. "Do not worry, Stefano," he reassured the youth. "The tolling of the bell is a good sign." The man didn't explain further and he wasn't able to ask as there was suddenly fighting to their left. Stefano could hear the clash of steel against steel as Savonarola's soldiers fought those that still remained loyal to the Medici.

Frankly, he wasn't too interested in politics since he only cared to gain knowledge in the teachings of Plato and Aristotle. However, therein lay the problem, since Savonarola wanted men to forsake all knowledge and return to the ignorance of Eden. The young man's thoughts were interrupted as the shouts grew closer and the fight was driven to where they were hidden. Another shout was all the warning they got as the three men were spotted and some of Savonarola's men charged toward them.

Stefano grunted as he was shoved back by his mentor and the mercenary engaged the enemy. He was dragged away from the battle by the older man and in the alley the man whispered frantically. "Get to the Arno," he informed him as he shoved his bag into his hands. "There will be a boat waiting under the Ponte vecchio to take you west toward Pisa. There you can take a ship to Civitavecchia, and then you need to make your way to Roma. Inside my bag you will find the means to find my contacts there." He turned to look over his shoulder and Stefano saw the clear fear in his gaze, but when he turned his face had hardened in determination. "It's time to grow up, Stefano, while you still have a chance."

There was the shout from the mercenary as he was felled and his teacher flinched and quickly withdrew a dagger from the sheath at his side. "Go now! Do not hesitate, child! GO!" Stefano watched as the man rushed away from the alley and moments later saw two of their attackers give chase. They hadn't seen him and he hesitantly stepped back, before whirling in place and rushing off. He denied that the wetness on his face was anything besides morning mist, since dawn would be in two hours.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been running before he was spotted again, exiting from the alley onto a street were one of the pyres was burning as embers floated in front of his face. Stefano gasped as he lunged to the other side of the street to enter the alleyway once more, and took several sharp turns in an attempt to lose his pursuers. He was so close to the Arno now, and while the bridge was being guarded by soldiers led by a condottiero under Savonarola's command, he could easily climb down onto an embankment or find a nearby dock and look for the alleged boat. Stefano wasn't sure if it would be there, but he had nowhere else to go. However, he soon realized he would probably never make it as the guards were gaining on him.

A few minutes later, and half a block from his destination, he was quickly surrounded. Stefano's eyes fearfully darted from one assailant and then another. There were four men in total, and way more than he could have handled on his own. He clutched his master's bag to his chest as he stepped back only for his back to meet an unyielding wall.

"What have you got there?" one man asked, reaching for the bag. Stefano refused to be parted from it, and for the first time in his life, he resisted. "Do you want to die, ragazzo? Give it to me!"

As he made a grab for it again, a voice halted his movements. "It is you who will die if you do not step away from him!" A figure darted into their mists and Stefano watched as he killed one guard before he defended, dodging an attack so he wound up in front of him in a defensive stance.

Stefano's eyes widened as he recognized him. "Fratello!" he shouted with great relief. He'd been hoping that his family would come for him, and had started fearing the worse. Now, seeing his older brother made a weight lift from his shoulders, and Stefano wanted to ask where his mother and father were. However, he understood the gravity of the situation and that now was not the time to be asking such selfish questions.

"Stefano," his brother hissed urgently. The youth looked around the older man and paled as he saw several more guards coming their way, and he knew that his brother alone would not be able to defeat them. They were running out of options and fleeing would be their only salvation, but they were surrounded on both sides. Stefano swallowed thickly and fumbled for the short sword at his side, but in his heart he knew that they were to die there.

As the guards charged them, his brother engaged them and Stefano held the sword in a shaking hand. His first opponent came from a guard that avoided his brother and came for the easier prey. He parried the first attack but the strength behind the other man's sword sent him crashing into the wall, dropping the bag. Stefano made the mistake of taking his eyes away from his opponent to scramble to recover it.

Stefano winced as the man's sword slammed into his shoulder and couldn't bite back the scream that escaped his lips. He felt hot blood spill from the wound and quickly stain his clothes. The wound wasn't fatal but there was a risk of bleeding to death. Stefano's features, dirty with soot from the bonfires, were streaked with tears of pain, and he could hear his brother yelling his name. However, all he could see was the sneering guard leaning toward him while he applied pressure to the sword still impaling his shoulder.

There was a commotion somewhere in front of them, and he could hear the sound of screams and the clash of steel. The heady scent of blood was heavy in the air and the coopery taste of it was strong on his tongue. Stefano opened his eyes and saw a man had appeared to assist them, and that only two guards remained now, including the one still holding him pinned to the wall by the sword. As he watched, the stranger leapt at his opponent and slammed the palm of his hand into his throat with a squelch. When he removed it he saw that there was a blade coming out of his arm bracer, and it was coated in blood. As he straightened, he reached forward to close the corpse's eyes.

A moment later his eyes had closed from fatigue and blood loss and was aware when the pressure was removed from his shoulder and screamed when the sword was yanked from the wound. "Easy, ragazzo," a deep voice muttered. He did not know this voice and weakly flailed against the person supporting him. "Don't struggle or the wound will tear further."

Stefano turned half-lidded eyes toward the man and noticed a black cowl obscuring his eyes, but could make out a slightly bearded chin and jaw. "Who are you?" he panted, one arm thrown over the man's shoulder and the other still clutching his mentor's bag like a lifeline.

A grim smile lifted his lips. "I am only someone who wishes to see Firenze restored to her former glory." Stefano didn't understand his words and before he had appeared he could sworn he heard the church bell toll once again.

"Stefano!" This voice he recognized; his brother. "Grazie, for saving my brother, Messere." He hissed as he noticed his wound. "Bastardos," he growled.

The grip on his shifted and Stefano realized he was being handed over to his brother, and winced as his injury was jarred in the process. "He will need to see a doctor immediately." There was a swish of robes before the stranger spoke again. "Mi scusi, but I must leave. Safety and peace to you both."

Stefano lifted his head to watch the man as he left and noticed that he was wearing black robes trimmed in blood-red. The diminishing figure of the man was the last thing he saw before his world went black.

~o~

Stefano shook himself from his dark memories and glance to the ship, but he was stunned when he saw that the robed figure had disappeared while he'd been reminiscing on the past. "Mierda," he cursed, kicking a nearby crate which toppled over. He had wanted to speak to the man and ask if he remembered him, and thank him for saving their lives since he hadn't had a chance then.

"So, this is where I find you, fratellino?" a voice asked behind him. Stefano cursed again, since he'd forgotten that he had to meet his brother. He turned to give the man a guilty grin.

After being saved by the black robed stranger, his brother had dragged him to a nearby doctor and later got on the boat. Even if his wound was still fresh, they had made the journey to Pisa. His parents had been killed in Firenze, so there was no sense in returning to an empty house. After having the injury cleaned and freshly bandaged, they set off for Roma. It had been rumored that things were just as bad in Roma, and especially under the rule of Alexander VI, but had only come to realize how bad after arriving. Even so, they remained within the city because the brothers had nowhere else to go.

Stefano's grin turned mischievous as he threw an arm over his brother's shoulders, glad for the growth spurt he'd experienced, and started to walk away. "You'll never guess who pickpocketed me," he declared in a boastful voice.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevere - Tiber river  
> Firenze - Florence  
> Isola Tiberina - Tiber Island  
> Fiorini - Florins (Italian money)  
> Aiutatemi - Help me  
> Maestro - master  
> Arno - It is the most important river of central Italy after the Tiber, and flows west through Florence all the way to Pisa and into the Ligurian Sea at Marina di Pisa.  
> Ponte vecchio - Old bridge (the Arno river flows under it)  
> condottiero - mercenary  
> ragazzo - boy; youth  
> fratello - brother  
> Grazie - thank you  
> Messere - Mister  
> fratellino - little brother


	5. Ghita Gargani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** Now, I understand that it's not a castle, but when I look at the wall surrounding the town then it appears castle-like to me. So, for future reference; a Crenelation is the top of a wall or tower that has lower sections (crenels, or embrasures) for the purpose of giving a castle defender a position to fight or fire through. This protective stonework is the classic outline of the top of a castle wall.

**Chapter Five:** _Ghita Gargani_

 

It was morning. She could feel it because the warmth from the sun was filtering through the window and dispelling the chill in the room, since winter still lingered in the air and often times her room was freezing cold in the mornings. Thus she was content to close her eyes to find a few more minutes of sleep while bathing in the sunlight.

However, the calm was broken by the sudden roar of the cannons, and it was so sudden that it made the poor girl tumble out of bed in fright. She cursed as she became tangled within the blankets and growled in annoyance as she flailed around, trying to untangle herself from them. Finally, she was free and stood with a huff as she cast a glance at the glass doors that led to a balcony. The girl marched toward them and without bothering to remember that she was still in her night clothes, pushed the doors open and tilted her head back to glare at the backs of the mercenaries above on the castle like walls that surrounded the town, leaning against the Crenelations so she could see him through the Crenels.

"Oi!" she screamed as they were alerted of her presence and leaned through the Crenels to look at her. "Why are you firing those things so early, volgare bastardi!" Instead of being offended by the insult, they all burst out laughing that this slip of a girl raging at them, and some men started to howl and cat-call when they noticed she was barefoot and only wearing her night clothes. "I'll go up there and give you another hole to whistle from, figliolo d'un puttana!"

As they carried on like a pack of hungry wolves, a figure shoved past them with a thunderous expression that quelled their ribald laughter better than the girl's threats ever could. The man had short coarse brown hair and sharp eyes of the same color. His face only had a bit of chin hair as well as a scar bisecting his left eye all the way through his eyebrow, and others from battles he'd fought in his twenty-four years of life. The man, standing at five feet and eight inches, was stout and clumsy. However, when it came to fighting, it was like watching an art form.

Now, the man expertly jumped over the side of the low embrasure and landed with a heavy thud on the young girl's roof. He grabbed the edge of the roof and swung onto the balcony, and when he straightened it was to see her grinning at him. "Oh, teach me how to do that, Ugo!" she exclaimed enthusiastically.

The man, Ugo Ubaldi, growled in annoyance as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside and away from the other men's predatory eyes. "How many more times do I have to tell you to stop going out dressed like that, Ghita?" he hissed angrily, grabbing the blanket from her bed and tossing it over her head.

Ghita gave a small yelp as the cloth obscured him from sight and wrestled with it for a moment before tearing it off her. She rolled her eyes when she saw his back turned toward her and standing at the closed balcony doors like some kind of guard dog. In reality, that is what he was, since her father left her in his care and was confident that he would never lay a hand on her while he was away.

The sixteen year old was not pleased the first time her father had gone out of town and she had been left in Ugo's "capable hands", having been fourteen at the time. When she had tried to leave to the market, he had prevented her from stepping foot out of the front door unless he accompanied her. After she had finally agreed when she realized he would absolutely not allow her to leave without him, she had to suffer his looming figure shadowing her every move. Her friends refused to come near her for two days after the man had practically interrogated them about their relationship with Ghita.

Thankfully, he started to mellow out over the months when her father had to keep leaving on more and more missions. Ugo was part of the home defense, and thus he never left Monteriggioni, unlike her father. It also didn't help when she'd managed to shake off his tail one day in the market and Ghita had the time of her life avoiding him while he searched for her in a panic. During her outing, she had gotten into trouble, and Ugo had appeared to save her ass. Afterwards, he'd dragged her back home and lectured her severely for her irresponsible actions. Ghita had gotten frustrated and screamed that if he wasn't so overbearing, then maybe she wouldn't had run away from him. It was the catalyst that finally made Ugo realize he was smothering the girl, and she had grudgingly realized that her father's worries were not just unfounded. She was already at the age that she could, and would be the target of men's unwanted attentions.

Ghita grabbed her clothes for the day with a grimace, since she had to wear one of those bulky, uncomfortable dresses. At times, she wished that she had been born a man, and could wear trousers and a shirt. The young girl was sure that she'd be so much more comfortable. Of course, Ugo would never allow it because he knew that her father wouldn't let her. She rolled her eyes as she started to change behind the screen, since it annoyed her the way the older man was so loyal to her father.

She curled her fingers around the screen and peeked around it to peer curiously at the stiff-backed man still standing at the balcony doors and sighed softly. He was so loyal that he saw her as nothing more than a child, his master's child whom he had to protect from anything and everything. Ghita grew frustrated with the man, since he never saw the attention she paid only to him. She knew he was much older that she; nine years, but that didn't matter to her. To Ghita, he was her knight and shining armor since that night he'd saved her so long ago. However, Ugo was a distant man, so she barely knew anything about him besides that her father had saved him when he'd been twelve, and taken him in. The things she did know was that his mother had been a courtesan and his father a thief, and this is the reason he was one of the few mercenaries that could free-run like the thieves. Besides that, she knew that he'd had a family and they had died in some way. Ghita had been eleven at the time had had vague memories of them, but nothing on what could have happened to them. Perhaps this was the reason he treated her with such cool indifference, but she couldn't really say for certain.

The sixteen year old sighed louder as she finally came out from behind the screen. "You know, you'd make a good guard dog," she teased with a grin as she fastened the cap to her head to cover her hair. Ghita wanted to wear her long, black hair down and then run barefoot through the town of Monteriggioni so it whipped behind her, catching the sunlight as it sparkled like starlight. She knew that saying this aloud would cause people to look at her strange, since she was supposed to be a respectable young lady.

Ghita flinched as she felt Ugo flick her forehead and whined as she rubbed the spot. "Stop daydreaming and pay attention," he chastised her. He smirked when she pouted and turned her back on him. "Now, I was saying that you won't need a guard dog anymore since your father should be arriving sometime today or tomorrow."

He watched as she spun around as a grin split her face and lit up her hazel eyes. "Is he truly returning so soon?" she exclaimed joyfully. Ghita had been scared for her father's life, since she knew he had left with Mario Auditore, one of the lords of Monteriggioni to aid his nephew. The man was well known and loved by the townsfolk, since he'd repaired the crumbling town when no one else would. Thus, he had the loyalty of not only the mercenaries, but of the thieves and courtesans as well. He was the man of a people, Ezio Auditore.

She had only glimpsed him once or twice when she'd seen her father off on his missions, so she didn't know what kind of man he was. However, she did know that her father was fiercely loyal to him and the house of Auditore. Although, loyal or not, she hated the man to some extent since he was one of the reasons her father was away from home and her for many weeks at a time.

"I have to prepare for his arrival!" she exclaimed happily, rushing out of the room so she could go to market. The house needed food supplies so she could prepare him a feast upon his return, and celebrate that he had returned from such a perilous mission. Ghita only knew the vague details, but she _did_ know they had ridden for Roma.

It was late afternoon when the riders were spotted on the distance and one of the other mercenaries came to inform Ugo. The man had answered the door, and she hadn't bothered opening the door since he'd never allow her to do it. She had asked him about it once and he had responded that one never knew who would come knocking. Ugo was forced to stay in the house with her during the nights, and never strayed far from it during the day. The man owned a Flanged Mace as well as his Notched Cinquedea, which he was wont to wear on his person all the time, and she wondered if the man slept with them on. A small giggle escaped her at the thought and when the man unknowingly being laughed at turned, she waved him off flippantly. The older man sighed in exasperation and proceeded out the door ahead of her, eyes darting from side to side; always alert.

~o~

"Papa!" she squealed as she launched herself at the middle-age man, feeling his strong arms envelop her moments later. His warm embrace quelled the fear in her heart and set her mind at ease. "I'm so glad you're finally home." She pulled back and grabbed his hand before starting to drag him home. "Come, I have prepared your favorite meal and then you can take a hot bath."

The man sighed in content as he nodded. "Bene," he muttered, allowing the girl to drag him along. He turned back once toward Ugo, who was starting to go in the opposite direction since he wouldn't be needed now that his master had returned. "Ugo! Why don't you come over and join us for an early dinner?" The men had returned who had been ready just outside of Roma should they be needed. However, once they'd gotten the signal from Mario that both him and Ezio had made it out alright, than they had started back toward Monteriggioni. So, both men should be along in another hour or two after them.

Ugo hesitated before nodding and quietly following after his master and his daughter. If the man asked him to spend the night, then he _would_ refuse that invitation. After all, he only had so much self-control, and he wasn't willingly to test how much he had.

~o~

Ghita quietly crept toward the stairs that led toward the first floor where her father and Ugo were discussing the mission he had gone on. She was very curious about what had transpired in Roma, and there was a lot of gossip going around Monteriggioni about it. The most outrageous thing she had heard was that they had gone to assassinate the pope in the Vatican City. It seemed like a preposterous idea that they would do such a thing, even despite the horrifying things they had heard from Roma and Alexander XI's rule. Ghita had never even been to San Gimignano, and thus could only glimpse the outside world through snatches of gossip and stories.

"So, is the Spaniard truly dead?" she heard Ugo inquire of her father. For a confusing moment, she wondered who they were speaking of. Then she remembered that disturbing rumor and the fact that she'd heard that the current pope had been born in Spain.

 _'It can't be true, can it?'_ she wondered fearfully. Ghita was compelled to listen to the rest of the conversation and prayed that it wasn't true.

Her father sighed and she heard him rise from his seat with the clinging of metal and recalled that he hadn't removed his armor even when they'd sat down to eat. She was sure he still had his sword strapped to his belt, and wondered at it. The man was never so paranoid as to have his weapons equipped while at home. "I do not know, Ugo," he spoke. "Messere Mario and Ezio did not ride in with us, so we do not know the details. Although, I doubt they would share such things with us when we are not officially part of the Order." His heavy footsteps moved him away from the table before stopping, and she guessed he was staring through the window as he was prone to do during a restless day when there were no missions or fighting for days at a time.

 _'The Order?'_ she pondered. The things they spoke of confused and frightened her. Ghita wondered if the order they were speaking of had to do with the symbol on the banner flying from the pole on top of the Auditore Villa. This same symbol was carved into the wall of the fountain that was half-way up the stairs leading up toward the opulent mansion.

Over the years she'd seen men and women come and go from there, which was a place she had never dared venture. One particular person had caught her eyes simply because at the time Ghita had been with Ugo and had stiffened beside her. The man wore a hooded cloak and descended the stairs silently before mingling with the crowd and seemingly vanishing before her eyes. Ghita had heard the man whisper two words that day, 'La Volpe'. She'd pestered him unendingly until he had relented with what he knew. Apparently he was an infamous thief that was shrouded in mystery that nothing was even known of him, not even his name.

Ghita gasped softly when she heard the man moving toward where she was hidden. She stood and as quietly as she could manage, she retreated to her room without being able to learn anymore. As she lay in bed later that night, she pondered over the things she had heard and feared more than ever for her father's safety. Ghita wondered what would become of her if she were to lose him, since he was all she had. Her mother had died in childbirth and thus he had been forced to raise her by himself.

The young girl knew he blamed himself on her inability to attract a suitable suitor, so she could have a family and live happily. In all honesty, she didn't want to marry a stranger that only came to call on her because he was attracted to how she looked on the outside. She didn't want anything to do with such vain reasons. Instead, she wanted someone that took the time to patiently teach her how to wield a sword and a dagger. Ghita wanted a man whose smile seemed reversed only for her, since she never saw him wear such an expression around other people. Most importantly, she wanted him even when he was too bound to his duty to her father that he'd never even see her as a woman.

~o~

It was almost dawn before she felt a hand shaking her awake. She groaned in annoyance and tried to shove it away and continue sleeping, but the shaking came even more urgently. "Papa, let me sleep a little longer," she whined, inching one bleary eye open. She stiffened a moment later when she realized that it wasn't her father, but Ugo. "Ugo, what...what are you doing in my room?" She flushed in humiliation since she'd left slept only in her Chemise that night and felt overly exposed with him there. However, she sobered when she saw the serious expression on his face. "What is it?"

"We must leave the house immediately," he urged, reaching out to practically drag her out of bed when she didn't move fast enough for his tastes. He ignored her protests and dragged her over to where she'd draped her kirtle and shoved it into her hands. Ghita paused as she heard the rumble of cannon fire close to the gates and wondered if the stronzi were practicing.

She screamed as she heard a nearby explosion, as if something were ripping through stone. "What is going on?" she yelled as she struggled to don the kirtle. Ghita grabbed a simple gown as Ugo's hand closed over her own and quickly rushed her outside. "Wait, what about Papa?"

Ugo's face was grim as she dragged the struggling girl through the streets and Ghita was momentarily shocked at the panicking people running around. Then came the cannon balls as they ripped into the building they'd just been in and both of them were momentarily thrown off their feet. The bigger man was on his feet almost immediately and lifted her up. "They were spotted just as dawn was cresting the horizon...hundreds of soldiers." He grunted as he was jostled by a fleeing civilian but managed to stay on his feet as he continued purposefully and it took a moment for Ghita to realize they were headed in the direction of the Auditore Villa.

"What about my Papa?" she asked again, her left hand clutched around her dress as the other was held tightly by the larger man. When he couldn't meet her eyes, she yanked at his hand but his hold was fierce. "Ugo, where is he?" She was desperate to know and so afraid of the answer he would give.

Ugo glanced at her and her determined face when she tried to tear her hand away from his once more. The sounds of screams and explosions surrounded them as well as the stench of blood and smoke, but he knew that she didn't care of that right now. Ghita loved her father too much to care for her own safety, but he had his duty to his master to protect his most beloved person. "He has stayed with Messere Mario while he leads a frontal attack on the invading soldiers." He started to yank her along once again as she struggled.

"No! We can't leave him! You have to go help him, Ugo!" she screamed.

The older man clenched his teeth and turned to glare at her. "I would desire nothing else but to go help him, but he has entrusted me to get you out of Monteriggioni!" It pained Ugo that he could not go and fight alongside his master during this dire time, but his loyalty didn't allow him to disobey his wishes. It didn't matter if it hurt to know he could die while he'd be unable to help.

Ghita's hazel eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. "I won't leave him," she gasped, choking back a sob. The fires burning around them had stained her face in soot and her tears cut shaky lines down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say more but a cannonball slammed into the building in front of them, causing several piece of the structure to fall around them. She screamed as she felt herself get knocked to the ground and the crash of stone sounded moments later. When Ghita finally dared to open her eyes, she realized that her face was buried against Ugo's chest and his arms were wrapped around her. He'd protected her from the falling debris, but thankfully he was unharmed except for a nasty cut at his temple that oozed blood down his face so it dripped down his jaw.

"Are you alright?" he asked, coughing as he choked on the smoke that was all around them from the fires. Ghita could only nod numbly and slowly eased to her feet. "We can't stay here, Ghita. I have to get you out safely."

Ghita's eyes closed tightly and more tears ran down her face. "No, I will not leave him," she said stubbornly.

Ugo sighed and she opened her eyes as he spoke. "Forgive me," he pleaded. A moment later she gasped as she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head, and knew no more.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Volgare bastardi - vulgar bastards  
> Figliolo d'un puttana - son of a whore  
> Chemise - it is a simple garment worn next to the skin to protect clothing from sweat and body oils  
> Kirtle - a tunic-like garment worn by men and women worn over a chemise or smock and under the formal outer garment or gown  
> Bene - (adv.) o.k., all right, well, fine; good (n)  
> La Volpe - The Fox  
> Stronzi - assholes (plural)
> 
>  **PS:** _sorry for the cliff-hanger, please don't hate me!_ n_n;


	6. Ugo Ubaldi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** I couldn't get this chapter out when I intended, and almost passed my deadline of having it ready before the new year. Even then, it feels a bit rushed. Eh, what're you gonna do?

**Chapter Six:** _Ugo Ubaldi_

_Romagna, 1488_

The child coughed as the smoke stung his throat and made his eyes water so tears ran down his dirty features. When he managed to right himself, he glanced around the destruction with slack features, but his dark brown eyes showed his sorrow and grief. He took one shaky step before taking another one, and soon he could walk without dizziness seizing him. Now he wandered aimlessly through the ruins of what had once been his house, and which was now little more than smoldering ruins. His features were covered by more than soot, but blood as well. There were streaks of blood on his face and it was covering his clothes so heavily that it appeared he'd drop dead any moment of blood-loss.

As he stopped in the middle of the ruined structure that had once been his kitchen, he finally collapsed onto the ground with a small whimper. The boy, who was no older than eleven or twelve, lay there uncaring that he could scarcely breathe through the black smoke. He merely hacked as he choked on the carbon monoxide, and he was bordering on unconsciousness when he heard the crunch of burnt wood underneath someone's boots. The steps came to an abrupt halt just beside him, and the child felt fingers moving gently over his bloodstained face. When his warmth breath caressed the person's fingertips, the child heard them gasp. The stranger carefully lifted him and he heard a deep voice mutter words of comfort. "Tutto andrà bene, piccoli."

The child wondered how anything could be fine. No, nothing would ever be the same again, and hated this stranger for stating otherwise. With that last thought, he drifted into unconsciousness.

~o~

Ugo's even breathing hitched for a moment before he came awake as his eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the ceiling for several long moments, and tried to gauge the hour. It had been over a month since his master had rode for Roma, and wondered when he would finally return. He hated the feeling of uselessness he felt at remaining behind, and wished he could be by the man's side. Ugo knew that it wasn't that he doubted his skills, since the man had trained him from the age of twelve. The reason was that he trusted no one else to care for his daughter, Ghita.

He glanced around the room as he lay on the cushions he'd fashioned into some sort of mattress he had made in his master's room, since he didn't dare sleep on his bed. Ugo knew the man wouldn't say anything, but it felt wrong somehow. He'd only slept there once before, and it wasn't something he'd ever forget.

~o~

The pitter-patter of feet came from the room down the hall and the youth groaned at the sound and burrowed further into the covers in an attempt to drown out the annoyance. He felt so tired, and wanted to sleep for a day. Even as he thought of this, he didn't stop to wonder why he was so fatigued, or where he was for that matter.

He grunted as he felt a heavy weight land on his body and cringed as some of his wounds were jarred and gave a distressed sound he'd later swear hadn't left his lips. The twelve year old was aware that what had landed on him was making a high-pitch sound that could have been "Papa, you're back! Wake up, papa!" However, he didn't want to stick his head from out of the blankets and face the waking world. So, he twisted to knock the offender off him and sighed as the weight was gone, but paused as he heard a thud.

His whole body flinched as a pained wail started up and finally decided that he had to awaken now. He poked his head from under the blankets and was confused at the small girl crying on the floor with fat tears rolling down her chubby face. A moment later he realized he'd been the cause of this, since he had knocked her off him. So, with a sigh and a wince, he eased from under the warm blankets before crouching awkwardly in front of her. "Mi perdoni, bambina," he muttered. He reached out to clumsily pat her head.

She paused momentarily to glare at him through hazel eyes filled with tears. "Ghita not bambina," she slurred, which was caused by a missing front tooth. The girl, who looked to be three or four, sniffled and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her night clothes. "Ghita is Ghita Gargani."

He paused for a moment as she studied him curiously as only a four year old could. "I...I'm Ugo Ubaldi," he finally muttered. As they both sat on the floor while Ugo cradled his midsection, he began to look around at his surroundings. It was plainly a bedroom, but was bare of any personal items besides a weapon rack that was sure to be well out of either of the children's reach. He wondered where this house was located, and doubted it was near to where he'd lived since they'd been segregated in the country.

Ugo's ears perked as he heard the hustle and bustle of a market, and occasionally the clomping of horse hooves. There was the sound of the merchants shouting their wares not too far off, and figured it was a descent sized populated town or city. The child wasn't too concerned to find himself here, since he had lost everything he cared for. All he had known was gone, and thus had no place he needed to be.

He didn't know he was crying until small fingers touched his face as they clumsily wiped his cheeks, and the girl was humming an old lullaby he vaguely remembered his mother singing to him when he'd been a babe. Ugo made a noise of distress and leaned away from her hands as he scrubbed his damp features furiously. His father, whom had once run with the thieves' guild in Florence, had always warned him never to show any weakness lest it be used against him. Now, he doubted this little girl would have any malicious intentions, but he had never been one to rely on others and he wasn't about to start now with a strange child.

"Mi dispiace," he murmured as he stood up with a grimace of pain and hobbled to the bed. He needed to lie down before he injured himself further. Ugo needed to heal as quickly as possible so he could leave this place. Thus he got into the bed and after a few painful moments, he lay as still as he possibly could. He was shaking by that point from the exertion as a cold sweat covered his brow.

Ugo's eyes had started to slowly close when he felt a tiny hand slide into his much larger one, and when he pried his eyelids back he was met with Ghita's bright smile. "Ghita get scared when sick, so Ghita will stay with Ugo." Ugo had no strength to argue with her even as she climbed with some difficulty onto the bed and then wiggled under the covers with him.

This was the sight that Ghita's father, Fedele Gargani walked in on as both children slept with the older boy curled around the four year old. His hand was clutched like a lifeline around his daughter's as the thumb from her free hand was stuffed into her mouth. He sighed and knew that soon he'd have to break her out of that habit, and _should_ have already done so, but he was so easily swayed by her cherubic features.

Also, he wondered what he would do with the boy. He couldn't be more than twelve years old now that he could see his face without all that ash and blood that had covered it. Fedele had felt his heart stop when he'd seen the pre-pubescent boy lying within the ruins of the burnt house. He had found the parents corpses first and had feared the worst and immediately went in search of their son. For one agonizing moment he thought the child was dead as well, and so he'd been shocked to discover that he still lived.

The boys' parents had originally been from Florence, and his father, Nino Ubaldi had been a thief under La Volpe before he had gotten engaged and then married to a courtesan by the name of Orfelina. They had left anything having to do with the Assassin Order when his family had been compromised when his son had been ten, and moved to a house that the woman's parents had left her in Romagna, outside the walled city of Forli.

It was convenient, since Caterina Sforza had long since been their ally. Later on, Girolamo Riario's treachery was discovered, and Caterina hired the Orsi brother's to kill him. However, after the death of her husband, she had taken over who defended it fiercely so that it wouldn't fall under papal control; or more specifically, Borgia control. Of course, they'd only known of these things since Nino Ubaldi had been an old friend of Fedele.

"Well, I guess there's only thing to do in this situation," Fedele Gargani sighed, shaking his head. He leaned over the children and lifted the blanket higher to guard against the slight chill on the air. His fingers treaded through the boy's coarse, brown hair. "Welcome to the famiglia, Ugo," he whispered.

~o~

Ugo groaned as he sat up from his make-shift bed and stood as he stretched and groaned as his back popped. He did his morning stretches before starting to do his exercise routine, and hoped he didn't wake the girl this time. The first time he'd started to care for the girl almost two years ago had been the morning afterwards, and the noise had woken her up so she stumbled out of bed in fear, thinking something or someone had gotten in and was attacking him. He didn't blame her for believing such a thing, since he'd grunted and groaned several times and imagined his movements made thumping and other noises. These days she slept through them and he was glad since it was slightly humiliating the first time the fourteen year old had crashed through the door to discover a shirtless 22-year-old Ugo.

When he'd finished his morning routine, he leaned out the window and toward the wall that ran all around the town of Monteriggioni. The sky was still dark but soon dawn's light would move like a wave over the slumbering town. Ugo was filled with the desire to look upon the sunrise, and sat on the windowsill with legs hanging over the side. From there, he easily grabbed to the top of the roof and lifted his body up and over as his muscles tensed with his actions. When that was accomplished, he jogged across the roof, jumped and landed with no trouble on the adjacent roof.

After climbing on the ladder a little ways down, he found himself on top of the wall as he leaned through the crenels and waited for day to come. As he inhaled the slightly chilly air and after filling his lungs, he exhaled with a sigh. It was a calm morning that would soon be shattered.

He glanced to the right and the mounts where the cannons would be mounted soon, so they'd be ready to be used when his Maestro and the masters of Monteriggioni returned. They would greatly improve the defenses of the town, and especially if the mission was a failure. Ugo wasn't a fully inducted member of the Assassin order, unlike his master, but he served the man and thus indirectly served the Brotherhood as well. He knew the parts his parents had played before leaving the order to retire to Romagna, just on the outskirts of Forli. It would be their deaths at the hands of the Orsi brother's when they attacked Forli for Rodrigo Borgia; the Spaniard.

Ugo knew next to nothing on the man they called 'The Spaniard', only things he'd heard whispered among the men, and the fact that he appeared to be an enemy of the Brotherhood. He was most likely a Templar, but if that were so then the order was in far greater trouble now that he had become the Pope, renamed Alexander XI.

The young man shook himself of his thoughts as he heard a shout that sounded clear across the rooftops due to the quiet morning silence. "UGO! I'M GOING TO MARKET! IF YOU'RE NOT HERE IN FIVE MINUTES, I'M LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!" Ugo chuckled as he recognized Ghita's voice, and turned to glare as the guffaws of the mercenaries drifted toward him.

He made a rude gesture at them before climbing over the embrasure to the ladder and then letting himself free-fall for a moment before grabbing on before hitting the shingled rooftop. The man took off at a jog back toward the two rooftops before swinging onto the balcony of his master's room. "No need to shout!" he growled as he climbed down the stairs a moment later, seeing the girl about to bellow out his name once again.

Ghita whipped around and pointed a finger right between his eyes. "You know I have to go to the market early!" she accused. She planted a hand at her hip while the other had a basket held against her waist. Ugo merely smirked at her, to which she huffed and turned to leave the house. It might be unbearable to stay behind while his master fought, but at times he wouldn't have it any other way. He would never allow his desires to be fulfilled, because his master trusted him and he would never fail him.

Ugo sighed heavily before following the girl, whom at the age of four, had captured his heart. "Wait for me, Ghita," he called, smiling slightly when she grunted in annoyance but obeyed all the same.

~o~

Ugo was wake instantly as he heard the door downstairs slam open, and scrambled out of bed as he shoved his feet into his boots. His hand closed around the hilt of his Flanged Mace that was always resting by his bed, and his other hand fell to the Notched Cinquedea which he always slept with. "Ugo! It's Fedele!" The man felt a strong relief at hearing his mentor's voice and moved quickly to the door. Fedele wouldn't dare walk through the door without knowing Ugo was awake lest he find a dagger at his throat, or a Mace to the face.

"What is the matter, Maestro?" he asked, glancing behind him as if expecting to see an enemy lurking in the shadows of the stairwell. The man rushed down the stairs, and Ugo grabbed a few throwing knives before hurrying after him. When they were at his house, he heard the cannon fire from the top of the castle walls and wondered if they had started practice early.

Fedele was out of breath by the time they stopped in front of the door. "The armies of the Borgia are nearly at our door."

Ugo went completely still for a split second before his features tightened in determination as he raised his Mace. However, he paused as Fedele laid a hand on his and guided the weapon down. "No," he denied the unvoiced request. "I will not run away like a coward." He refused to leave the older man as he defended the town, while he ran and hid like a scared child.

Fedele smiled indulgently at the younger male, and reached out like he would when he was a child to playfully ruffle his coarse, brown hair. "Silly boy," he chastised. "The desire to protect those most precious to you is not cowardly." Ugo's fingers clenched around the handle of his weapon and opened his mouth, but the other cut him off. "You and I know this is where you truly want to be." Fedele amused himself by letting the man's mouth open and close like a gaping fish as he tried to figure out what to say, but once again, he beat him to the punch. "Get Ghita out of Monteriggioni. Take care of her for me."

Ugo was still as stone for several heart-pounding moments before he gave a jerky nod. "We will be waiting for you in Firenze," he assured him. They clasped hands as equals, and as Fedele turned to leave, Ugo found he was shaking in fear for the man who was like a father to him. However, he steeled his resolve and turned to enter the house.

~o~

Ugo panted as he ran across the bridge with the precious weight thrown over his shoulder, seeing several of the villagers running in the same direction. There were shouts behind him, but he didn't dare slow down even when he knew that the soldiers had found a way into the escape tunnels.

However, he paused as he was just out of sight of the last bridge when a woman's voice shouted. "Ezio! We're on the other side. Hurry!" He was almost tempted to go back and ask about the frontal attack, but moments later heard the shouts of the soldiers and he determinedly pressed on.

"Cazzo!" a voice screamed before a crashing sound came. "Dio mi salvi!" Ugo ignored the pleas as they faded and ran on, Ghita's unconscious form still thrown over his shoulder.

When they were almost out of the tunnels, he was forced to rest and lifted his gaze as a limping man ran ahead of him. He was floored momentarily when he realized that the injured man, whom had a hole through his left shoulder, was none other than Ezio Auditore. "Merda!" he hissed, knowing that this meant that any soldiers left over would be right on his tail. He heard Ghita moan and tightened his hold on her as he continued back on the path at a run.

"Run! Get out before i soldati catch you! Correte!" He turned in time to see the Assassin yank a lever so it came down hard and fast on a soldier, and he withered in agony since the blow hadn't killed him instantly. Ugo heaved the girl more securely onto his shoulder as he finally exited the tunnel and into the open air. The sun was just rising in the East and in the distance he could still hear the battle as the remaining troops fought the invading army.

Ugo set the girl down and checked her over as well as the back of her head from when he knocked the girl out. He knew she wouldn't be pleased when she woke up, but he had done his duty. She was safe, and that's all that mattered for the moment.

He lifted his head as he saw Ezio exiting the tunnel as well and after entrusting the girl to one of the village women, he hurried over to ask about the frontal attack that Mario Auditore had led against the Borgia.

"The Borgia infantry are circling the town!" he heard someone shout as he was three feet from the three Auditore, and glanced to where he was pointing. They were too close.

"Mario is dead." Ugo froze as he heard Ezio speak these words, and turned slowly toward them. He saw that his words had shocked the two women as well, Claudia and Maria Auditore. He was speaking again but he didn't listen to his words, and only managed to hear "Firenze" before he was rushing back to Ghita. Fedele would never have left Mario's side.

Ugo was vaguely aware of the last remaining male Auditore yelling for a horse and declaring that he was riding for Roma, but his only concern now was for Ghita Gargani. As he knelt by the young girl as she recovered consciousness, Ugo desperately wondered how to tell her that her father was dead.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tutto andrà bene, piccoli - everything will be fine, child/little one  
> Mi perdoni, bambina - forgive me, baby girl/child  
> famiglia - family/household  
> Maestro - Master  
> Cazzo - Fuck  
> Dio mi salvi - God save me  
> i soldati - the soldiers  
> Correte - Run


	7. Annetta Abete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** This took longer to write than most chapters. The reason was that my muses were arguing on whether to post this character or another one which will come out in chapter nine. Both of these characters are very interesting, and thus I can't blame my muses for fighting. I barely read it over once before posting it, so forgive any mistakes. I'm my own beta. Finally, without further ado, I give you chapter seven.

**Chapter Seven:** _Annetta Abete_

_Roma, 1493_

The sound of the knife cutting through the air alerted him of the danger long before he saw the glint of moonlight against the razor's edge of the weapon out of the corner of his eye. He ducked and turned in his crouch, flicking his own dagger back the way it had come and received no satisfaction as he heard it meet flesh, and it was followed by a gurgling death rattle.

He straightened with a sigh as he flexed his fingers before moving across the rooftop to recover his weapon, and to make sure the corpse didn't fall to the street below and alert the patrol of his presence. Of course they'd find the body sooner or later, but he preferred to be long gone by that time. A curse left his mouth as he came to the prone figure and saw that it was a guard, a crossbowman to be precise. While he was thief, he had done his share of killing, but only when there was no other choice. However, the one thing he didn't do if he could avoid it, was killing the guards. The sons of bitches were vengeful when they found the culprit of such a crime, and really, it was more trouble than it was worth.

"Damage done," he muttered dejectedly, yanking the dagger out of the man's throat. He used the man's uniform to clean the blood before sheathing it at his side once again. As he continued across the roof of the Abete's lavish house, he proceeded with more caution. If the family had enough influence to have a Borgia guard on their rooftop, then he shuddered to think what lay within.

Usually, he stuck with pick-pocketing since he was the best on the streets and mingling within the crowd. His situation was beginning to become more strained as the guards punished the thief almost as harshly as the murderer. Now, a pick-pocket was likely to be executed instead of getting his hand cut off. Ciro wouldn't want to get his hand cut off either, but it was a better choice than getting hanged at the gallows.

Ciro shook off such thoughts as he swung down onto a balcony so he could enter the quiet house. He paused to think that it was almost too quiet, but quickly shook the thought off. If the place was quiet than that meant his presence had as of yet to be discovered, and that was a good thing.

~o~

Annetta's eyes fluttered open; her vision blurred a moment before finally clearing so she could see her arm. There was a nasty cut bisecting the length of her once unblemished skin, and it was oozing blood down onto the grimy floor she was lying on. She still wore the night gown she'd gone to bed in; made of white silk, but now ruined as it was peppered with dirt and blood. It took a moment of contemplation to remember where she was, and when that realization hit her, she jerked up onto her hands and knees.

A wave of nausea washed over her as her head pounded painfully, reminiscent of someone slamming a blunt object against her temple. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Annetta took in several deep breaths to calm her queasy stomach, and when she was sure she wouldn't puke, she opened her eyes as she sat up. The thirteen year old girl immediately wished she hadn't.

The once lavish dining room was ransacked and left bare of anything valuable. If she were to look around the house, then she was sure the whole place was stripped. However, she hadn't moved from her spot, and was frozen in place. In front of her lay her father's broken body, and the blood around his caved-in skull was like a macabre halo. The air was rank with the stench of hour's old blood, and flies already buzzed around his bloated corpse.

Annetta crawled forward like a meek child; too stunned to do anything else, and reached a shaking hand to his pale, blood-stained face. It looked to have been bruised and cut while he'd still been alive, and in death they had taken on a sickly, grayish color. She was vaguely aware of tears snaking down her face to fall and mingle with the blood.

Her slender fingers had just become stained with the cold blood when she felt a warm, merciful hand slip over her eyes to shield her from the image that was already burned into her retinas. "Don't look, piccola," a gentle voice muttered.

She only gave a whimper in response before she felt herself get lifted into this stranger's arms, face pressed against his shoulder as he held her like a small child. "I'm not a child. I'm thirteen," she protested weakly, but she buried her face closer to his warmth. She didn't know who this man was or why he was here on the worst day of her life, but for now she didn't care and allowed herself to fall into a restless slumber.

~o~

Ciro grunted as he hopped down through the opening in the ceiling, landing almost soundlessly in a crouched position and lifting his head to survey the room for any sign that it had been disturbed. He released the breath he'd been holding before straightening and silently striding into the dim room as he untied the pouch tied to his belt and let it plop onto the nearest surface. It made a slight clinking sound that made his lips twist in distaste, since he hadn't done well that day. It was getting harder for an honest thief to make a living these days.

He chuckled as he moved further inside, passing by the doorway that led to the only room with something resembling a bed, and glanced momentarily at the motionless figure that was hidden underneath the covers. The girl had been in a delicate state for the past few days, since one of her more serious injuries had gotten infected and had been ravaged by a fever. He had no idea how to care for a child and much less a girl, so he had done the only thing he could do. He'd taken some of the money he had stolen and desperately needed, to pay a doctor to attend to her.

He had cleaned the wound and used leeches to suck out the tainted blood, and then bandaged that one as well as any other cut serious enough to need to be covered up. Ciro had refused to let him cauterized the wounds unless it was absolutely necessary, since he didn't want her to suffer more than she already was at the moment.

After making sure she was still asleep and that her fever hadn't returned while he'd been out, he went in search of some food. He was glad that the cheese hadn't spoiled yet, and while the bread was stale he ate it regardless. As he chewed on the hard bread, he wondered what to do with the girl. Ciro hadn't really planned on taking on such a heavy responsibility, but had felt pity for her.

It was known that the Abete house was lavish, and while not too well known, they had enough money to get by. Also, it had been rumored that the Borgia was seizing fortunes and property from falsely accused wealthy families. Ciro had been skeptical at first at hearing such things, but it was clear what had happened to the widowed merchant and his young daughter. However, no one had done a thing to stop it because they were terrified that it would happen to them. Ciro on the other hand, took stupid risks and fought battles that he had no business being in simply because they were a lost cause. This was the reason he was suffering as it was, since he always wanted to help the less fortunate than him when he was poor himself.

~o~

Ciro paused after he let himself fall through the opening in the ceiling, since he never bothered removing the board keeping the door firmly in place. The girl; whose name he still didn't know, was awake and standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Of course she had regained consciousness a few days ago, but her moment of lucidity were far and few in between. Also, she hadn't spoken a single word since awakening. As he walked toward her with the intension of checking over her bandages, she stepped away from him as she watched him with wary eyes. "The bed is uncomfortable," she said before he could try to step toward her again.

The lone thief gazed back at her with eyes heavy with annoyance. It was just his luck that the first words to leave her mouth after being mute for almost four days, was to complain. "Is it?" he inquired tonelessly, stepping closer to the table and depositing his money pouch on top of it. "You'll have to deal with it, since this isn't a luxury Inn." After all, if anyone had a right to complain, it was Ciro. He had given up his bed to her, and she didn't even look the least bit thankful.

Her head tilted like a sparrow observing a rather tasty worm that it was about to devour. "I will not sleep on such a lumpy mattress." Her eyes flickered around the thief's safe-house now. "Nor will I spend another night in such poor conditions."

Ciro's fist ground into the table beneath his knuckles as he reigned in his ire. "There is nothing left for you out there, girl. You sleep where I tell you and stay quiet like an obedient child."

The young girl's lips curled in distaste. "I am nobody's obedient child," she answered haughtily. Her eyes were as black as midnight and while before they had seemed gentle, but now they weren't anything of the sort. "My name is Annetta Abete. Do you have any idea who my father is?"

Her question left him bemused for a moment, and he wondered if in her delicate mental state, she had blocked out that her father was dead. After all, Ciro was pretty sure he'd been bludgeoned to death before her eyes. He grit his teeth with the thought of having to reveal to her that her father was dead, and thus lashed out. "I know who he is, and this is why I've stolen you," he snapped. He turned a glare in her direction as he moved closer to her, but this time she held her ground. "Stolen property should listen to its master." His annoyed expression morphed into pain when she'd kicked him in the shin and stormed off. "I'm going to make you sleep on the hay like a mutt," he snarled. She only flashed him a rude gesture Ciro was sure she hadn't learned from her hoity-toity tutors, but other wise kept on walking.

Although Ciro threatened her to do so, he would allow her to keep sleeping in his bed. The man was tempted to send her back to where he'd recovered her, there was no possibility of doing so. The house had been confiscated by the Borgia and her father had been murdered in cold blood while being falsely accused of heresy and attempting to conspire against the church. So, there was nowhere Ciro could send her to. Perhaps he could deliver her back into the hands of the guards that had wanted to carry her off after her father had been killed. Annetta was much too young to marry, but that would not have stopped them from defiling her.

However, for all his misgivings, Ciro had grudgingly started to get use to her presence in the four days she'd been there. Granted, he would have preferred her to continue being mute, but he had never had such good luck. While, he had decided that he had to continue to care for the girl, but that it didn't make him any less aggravated when she opened her haughty mouth and flashed him a defiant eye.

Ciro only had himself to rely upon as far back as he could remember, and had always thought it was better that way. He only had to steal enough to feed himself through-out the week. At rare times he managed to find honest work, and he felt it was much better than stealing. In the end, it never lasted in these tough times and always ended up returning to it. At one point he'd managed to buy this house with honest earned money, but it was old and during cold nights the wind passed under the doors far too easily.

The one thing he couldn't get use to her having her around, was the interruption of his solitude. Ciro had never been one to openly seek out the company of others, since he knew from personal experience that people were selfish and didn't understand him. Of course, that lead those that he encountered to think he thought he was superior, but that wasn't the case. Ciro just didn't want to bother with other people. This was one of the reasons he never joined the infamous Thieve's Guild which was allegedly run by La Volpe; although he doubted it was little more than fantastical rumor. Ciro never dared go near the Cento Occhi gang that grew stronger day by day, since they served the Borgia; namely Cesare.

The bedroom door being slammed brought him back to the present dilemma with the obstinate woman-child he'd saved that refused to sleep on the "uncomfortable bed". Ciro wondered what horrible thing he'd done to have the misfortune of being saddled with a spoiled, insolent adolescent. Well, she would have to learn to cope sooner rather than later, since he was a humble thief, and she had nothing left.

~o~

Annetta growled in annoyance as her wrist was caught when she swung at Ciro. "You leave yourself too open for an attack," he chastised, indicating where he could get a hit on her body. He smirked as she scowled but knew that after a few more attacks, she'd shift her stance to cover the gap in her defense. She did this so he wouldn't notice that she was taking his advice. Ciro figured her ploy almost at once, but allowed her to keep her pride in tact; for now. Ciro was sure that he'd eventually break her out of her stubborn pride, but it was better to do it gradually and at the same time, gain her trust. At least, that's what one of the courtesans had told him he ought to do when he went begging for advice one day when he had been at his wits ends. After all, the lone thief didn't know anything about raising a teenage girl.

"Alright, that's enough for today," he informed her. He thought she was going to argue as she was prone to do at every opportunity, but was pleasantly surprised when she conceded after a moment's hesitation. Perhaps she was finally starting to trust in his judgment.

"Yes, enough practice already," she huffed, and Ciro had a sinking feeling at her tone of voice. "I want to use it in a real fight." Annetta straightened as she tried to look as confident as her tone.

Ciro frowned at the young girl. "No, you are not ready for actual combat yet." There was that defiant look again. "These skills are only necessary in case you get caught stealing and have to face down a guard." When she snorted at his words, he sighed in frustration. Over the past few months she had to fight him on everything. When he bought food, she turned her nose at the poor quality so she was weakened and almost fell off the rooftops while free-running. She was obstinate and refused to listen to reason. Ciro could be just as stubborn, and while he knew how to out-wit her when it came to common-sense; she was book smart and thus had a better vocabulary at her disposal. So, while he _could_ out-wit her, the girl usually used that smooth tongue of hers to refute everything he tried to teach her or tell her.

When she continued to give him that defiant look, he glared at her, but after a moment she shrugged and walked to the other side of their make-shift training area. "If you say so, Ciro," she agreed to easily to make him suspicious. The man wasn't fooled and eyed her skeptically. Annetta still believed she was the same spoiled girl from a rich family that would give into her every whim. Ciro would gladly give her anything she desired provided she was obedient, and properly learned the tricks of the trade. He could steal enough to get him by, but with another set of eyes they'd be able to get twice, or even three times more.

The thief could say with no arrogance that he was good at what he did, but even he wasn't infallible and had a few close calls with the guards. So, an extra pair of eyes could help him avoid unwanted confrontations with the corrupt guards, and the ability to locate more than one target at a time. A second person watching, say from the rooftops, could create a diversion to escape unnecessary trouble. Although, at the moment he couldn't trust her to behave herself, much less with something so delicate such as watching his back. As it were, he was likely to end up with a sword between his shoulders.

Thus he eyed her suspiciously now. "If you get yourself into trouble, I will not be there to rescue you," he lied, since he could never leave her alone. Even so, he turned his back as she whirled to glare at him and make her think he meant business.

He heard her scoff indignantly. "You're not my father, Ciro," she spat, not being able to stop the slight flinch that coursed through him. "I'm not a child so I don't need your protection."

Ciro had come to a stop at the door at her first statement as his hands clenched at his sides. Maybe he was past annoyed, or he just wanted to be cruel so she'd wake up to the reality that her previous life was over and done with. "God forbid I ever be your father," he snarled, hearing her gasp at his tone since he'd never spoken to her in such a way. "Then again, your father is _dead_ , and there are worse things than having me as one." He heard her make a distressed sound that might have been a sob, but he retreated inside so he wouldn't know and face the guilt he felt at saying those words.

"It's for her own good," he muttered to himself as he removed a throwing knife and savagely threw it at the wall so it lodged half-way down into the wood. However, the action nor the words did anything to alleviate his self-loathing. Ciro wondered when he'd developed a conscience, and figured it might have started around the time he'd tried to shield a thirteen year old girl from the horror of her father's corpse. He had been trying to salvage some scrap of her innocence even when he knew wasn't possible, but he'd felt an inexplicable desire to try.

He paced restlessly inside their safe-house for several minutes as he tried to decided what to do now. Ciro knew she wouldn't come inside after what he'd said, and was likely to run off in distress. Even knowing this, he refused to follow her as if...as if he were her father.

Ciro cursed vehemently and viciously kicked a chair so it snapped in two, but it wasn't enough and destroyed anything within reach. After several minutes he was left panting in the middle of his destruction with only his thoughts. He had been caring for the girl almost a year now, and while he didn't suffer any illusions about being anything resembling a parent to her, he'd at least hoped to have gained her trust by this point. As it turned out, he was at the same point as when they'd first met, and he'd be lying if he said her words hadn't stung. They'd hurt like hell.

The lone thief reached into his pouch and pulled out a light pink ribbon. It had once been silky and soft, but had grown coarse over the years and stained with a drop of what could only be blood. He started to run it through his fingers for a moment before he clenched his hand around it, turned and bolted through the door.

~o~

The sun had already set a long time ago, the sky having been painted a red-orange that no painter could ever hope to recreate. The torches had been lit so the streets wouldn't be too dark, and thus some people still braved going outside to run last minute errands before turning in for the night. While it was true that these days Roma was a perilous place even during the day, but at night is when one was more than likely to fall prey to the scum of the streets.

A lone figure moved recklessly through these very streets, and the boyish clothes would have fooled anyone if not for the slender body that couldn't be mistaken for any man or boy. Thus it was clearly a young girl. It was dangerous at night because of the desperate thief, the blood-thirty mercenary and heartless courtesans. While it was true that most of the mercenaries followed Bartolomeo d'Alviano, but those that didn't, were not to be trifled with. Even the courtesans were likely to slit a man's throat before ever pleasuring him. Also, the thieves of the Cento Occhi were ruthless, and the few lone ones weren't as honorable as Ciro.

Annetta shook the thought off, since she didn't want to think of the man whom she was currently fuming over. "How dare he," she growled as she stalked down the darkening street, angrily wiping at her eyes. Her anger was only a mask for the hurt his words had caused her, but supposed that it was in part her fault. It was just so difficult to look at Ciro at times because he reminded her of that day; the worst day. He hadn't seen him at the time and only remembered a gentle voice at her ear, a merciful hand over her eyes, and strong arms wrapping around her. It had felt like being held by her father and the thought brought a small sob to her throat even now. Her father was dead, and she felt guilty when she compared Ciro to her beloved father. She felt guilty when she found herself listening raptly to his lessons as she'd once done when her father had taught her.

The young girl was biting her lip so hard to stifle her sobs that her teeth pierced the supple flesh and tasted blood. Annetta made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat at her weakness, since she was behaving like the child she was always trying to prove she wasn't.

Once she managed a degree of calm for her to think straight did she finally slow down and take her surroundings into account. The fourteen year old frowned when she didn't recognize the street she was on, nor the buildings that surrounded her. Annetta finally came to a stop as she glanced back the way she'd come. However, she knew that she'd been far too distressed to remember what turns she had taken or how far she had walked before calming down. She felt a flash of fear at realizing she was lost, but paused to take a deep breath before she panicked. When that was accomplished, she focused her mind on a rationally thinking of what she wanted to do next.

 _'First of all, you must not give into panic,'_ Ciro's voice came to her, remembering a lesson he had taught her just last week. While she had rolled her eyes and pretended not to listen, Annetta's ears had never allowed herself to miss a single word that fell from his lips. _'If you are being chased then getting out of sight and hiding is the first course of action. Don't lose your way or you could end up in an alley with no way out, and then you're dead. Take to the rooftops if you can't get your bearings.'_ Annetta nodded and moved to peer into a nearby alley, looking for a ladder that sometimes seemed conveniently placed at times. Her search turned up results on the third try and easily climbed up to the roof of the building, and then another until she was as high as she could reach.

 _'If you're lost, then you get to the tallest building and look around for any familiar landmarks. You're not that well trained with free-running over rooftops yet, so don't try to outrun pursuers on the rooftops.'_ The young girl glanced around and her eyebrows went up when she saw that she was close to the Piazza della Rotonda, since the Pantheon was unmistakable even in the darkness due to the torches at the entrances. Annetta wondered how upset she'd been that she hadn't noticed that she had walked that far. Their safe-house was located in the Campagna district, close to the Terme di Diocleziano. Now that she paid closer attention, it was near midnight or already past it.

She cursed herself now for her defiant temper, since he always warned her not to venture out at night. It was much too dangerous to risk going outside as Roma plunged into an age of darkness overseen by the tyrant known as Alexander XI.

Annetta inhaled for a moment before deciding to forget the man responsible for her current situation, and instead concentrated on leaving the roof and getting back to the safe-house. If she went toward the Pantheon and kept moving south-east, than she'd eventually reach Campagna District.

She lifted her face against the wind so it caressed her flushed features, and Annetta felt free so high up with no walls to cage her in. Annetta wasn't afraid of enclosed spaces, but she also didn't like to feel trapped. After several minutes she hopped down from her perch on top of the roof garden. As soon as her feet touched the ground once again, she was moving as quickly as possible and trying not to draw any attention to herself. However, her footsteps were not as silent as her mentor and they echoed in the too silent night. A chill raced up her spine as she moved toward the Pantheon, and chanted a useless prayer under her breath that her mother had often used while putting her to bed.

The sound of movement behind her was the only warning she got before she was grabbed and slammed against the wall. Annetta was shamed as a whimper of pain escaped her lips as a pair of large hands held her to the wall so her feet almost dangled. "Mmm, look what I caught all alone in the dead of night," he voice whispered into her ear. A shudder of fear crawled up her spine as she lifted her gaze to look at her attacker. Annetta's blood ran cold at recognizing the man as part of the Cento Occhi gang.

Annetta didn't have any money to rob, but she was no fool. Ciro was wary of the gang for a reason, and seeing the look he was pinning her with caused her to recoil in disgust. "Let...me...go!" she panted, struggling to shove him away from her. However, the man was like the wall at her back, unmovable.

He leaned more heavily against her and felt a cold terror overtake her senses as the man's hand took hold of her vest. Annetta shifted and used all the strength she could muster to drive her knee into the bastard's groin. A strangled cry indicated that she had managed to cause some serious damage, and broke away from him when his hold faltered. "Puttana!" he snarled after her as she darted out of the alleyway. "I'll kill you!"

She didn't bother to turn around to see if he was following, and instead ran in what she hoped was the direction of the Pantheon. Annetta didn't know she was crying until her vision became blurred with tears, but she angrily wiped them away and kept moving. The sound of pounding footsteps reached her ears and she turned the corner into the piazza, and desperately threw herself into a cart of pink flowers that was located close to the fountain. She went rigid and tried to slow her breath as she heard the man coming closer. The air in her lungs seemed to freeze as he passed dangerously close and suddenly stopped, and for a moment feared she'd been found.

"Cazzo!" she heard him curse, kick the cart she was in and them storm away in anger. Annetta felt a relief so sharply it hurt and could barely bite back a sob. She buried her head deeper into the petals as she was surrounded by their heady scent.

Annetta must have cried herself to sleep because when she stirred and lifted herself out of the cart, she saw that dawn was approaching. She stumbled out of the flowers and plopped tiredly on a nearby beach as a yawn cracked her features. Annetta wondered if Ciro was worried and after a moment decided that he was probably glad she was gone. She started sobbing again, unable to help the grief she felt at that thought, and covered her face with her hands. Without her noticing, dawn arrived and with its light came a rain of pink flower petals.

Annetta choked back a sob when she felt the touch of them on her head and lifted her tear-stained face to a magnificent sight. The piazza was bathed in morning light as the water in the near-by fountain sparkled, and the velvety petals caught and danced upon the wind. She lifted a shaking hand to catch one within her palm, gently closing her fingers around it and inhaled a shaky breath.

"ANNETTA!"

He head snapped up as she heard someone shout her name and saw Ciro at the other side of the piazza. The man looked exhausted and ragged, as if he hadn't slept all night...

The young girl shot to her feet as he rushed across the square and she felt more tears flow down her face. She was so relieved to see him and to know that he'd been looking for her. The fourteen year old ran to meet him and threw herself into his arms. "Ciro! I-I'm s-sorry," she sobbed. His strong arms crushed her to him and she felt her feet leave the ground.

Annetta could hear him whispering something over and over again that sound like 'Thank you, God'. Ciro was not a religious man so she could have heard wrong, but she didn't care. All Annetta cared about was that she felt safe; she felt like she'd come home at last.-


	8. Ulrico Ursini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took so long, but RL chewed me up and spit me out. Also, this is a bit shorter than anticipated but my muses are still being uncooperative. Either way, over all, I'm satisfied with this. Now, I don't remember much of this particular mission except the basic outline of it, so I apologize for any mistakes. If you see anything I messed up, then please point it out and I'll be only too happy to correct it. Thank you, and please carry on.

**Chapter Eight:** _Ulrico Ursini_

_Venezia, 1486_

Alessandro straightened from his work table as he flexed his sore fingers, since he'd been working most of the day and well into the night. However, it was worth it as he lifted the dress he'd just finished making. It was truly a work of art since he'd made it from the finest crimson and golden silks, and he had spent almost a week trying to get it ready for Carnevale. The colors would compliment the mask, and the stitching of wings at the back was as meticulous as the rest of his creations, but he'd taken greater care to make sure it was nearly perfect. After all, his wife deserved the best since she always worked so hard and asked for so little. So, he wanted her to enjoy the festivities tomorrow night, and if time allowed he would join her at some point that evening after closing up the shop. His Carlotta had been young -they both were- when they married and shortly after they had their son.

An unbidden smile lifted his lips as he thought of his son and felt a swell of pride for the boy. He was almost 12 years' old and already he had mastered the skills Alessandro had taught him, so he would be a great tailor, if not better, than his own father. Since it was Carnevale, they were so busy and the child was left unattended. Thus they had decided to send him to his uncles' house in Roma for a few weeks until the madness was over. He would be well cared for and his cousins' were roughly the same ages and thus he wouldn't be too homesick.

Alessandro stood up at last as he kneaded a hand against his stiff shoulder, and as he set the dress aside where it wouldn't be bothered, he contemplated closing early tomorrow night. It wouldn't lose them too much business, and besides, they'd been working tremendously during the month leading up to Carnevale and all of them deserved a break. Also, the orders hadn't just been dresses either, since many men -mainly soldiers- sheathes for throwing daggers, purchased pouches for crossbow bolts, and for storage on all manner of items such as medicines, or even poisons. Although, mostly doctors used them for that last item.

The man moved out of his work shop to head home, but didn't have to go far since their house was close to the shop. It was obviously late but the moon and sporadic torches provided enough light for him to walk the short distance to the two story house. He made sure not to make too much noise as he entered, since he knew his wife would be asleep at this point. She had a long week spent delivering finished orders, and a particular order was to Marco Barbarigo's wife, which was coincidentally also named Carlotta. The two women had bonded, strangely enough, over their names and as a result they were invited to the Doge's private party. Of course, his wife had been a bit hesitant but Alessandro had encouraged her to accept the invitation, but later Alessandro realized that they'd have to wear a special type of golden masks in order to get in. This is the reason he'd started work on the dress right away, so it would match with the mask. The man realized that this was another reason to close the shop early, since a person would have to be a fool to refuse an invitation to the Doge's party, and not to mention that it was bad for business since they were likely to meet new potential clients at the soiree. It was with this thought in his exhausted mind that he settled down besides his wife's sleeping body.

~o~

Alessandro glanced despairingly at the rapidly darkening sky as he tried to calculate how long it would take to close the shop, get home and dressed, and then walk to the party. "I will close the shop," his assistant spoke, interrupting his thoughts with a knowing smile. They had gotten busy and lost track of time, but luckily his wife had left in the early afternoon to get ready and was likely already there.

He gave the younger man a grateful smile as he muttered a quick thanks and hurried off home. It took half an hour to bathe and get dressed before going out in the cold night, and while Spring was right around the corner the nights were still reminiscent of winter. He started to jog through the dimly lit streets toward the location, an open courtyard that had one side facing the open waters of the canal and the buildings around closed it in so there was only one way in.

Alessandro was already wearing his mask, so they allowed him to enter easily, but as soon as he stepped into the open air, he was shoved aside by a tall, hunkering man with a mean looking face. The tailor might have said something, but held his tongue when he saw just how big he was, and that several guards surrounded him. He noticed that they didn't pay him any attention despite having shoved him and ordered them to search someone out as they mingled with the crowd. Alessandro knew trouble when he saw it, and even if he had just gotten there he knew it was time to leave. Thus, he moved further inside with the intention of finding Carlotta and getting her home safely.

Although there were torches littered throughout the courtyard, it was still too dim to see properly, so he had to check every small crowding of people for her. As he searched, Marco Barbarigo started to speak but he mostly ignored him and only caught a few words. "Welcome, my friends, to the grandest social event of the season! At peace or at war, in times of prosperity or paucity - Venezia will always have Carnevale!" He did notice that he gave his speech from a boat adrift on the canal waters, and affectively separating himself from his guests. While Alessandro had paid him little mind, he did give a pause as the night sky suddenly came alive with a brilliant display of dozens of colored lights. It was something the tailor had never; in all his life, seen before so he was understandably distracted. His eyes and everyone else's eyes lifted and watched the clandestine sight with awe, and Alessandro momentarily forgot that he was looking for his wife.

The sudden sound may have been excused as part of the noise from the exploding fireworks, but this was louder and the stench of gunpowder was too close. Then many watched in disbelief as Marco Barbarigo fell from the boat and his body disappeared into the dark waters of the canal. The Doge had been murdered! Now the exclamations of awe and delight had turned into screams.

Alessandro struggled against the rush of bodies heading toward the exit, which was blocked by the guards. He didn't care, since he had no intention of leaving either way, or at least, not until he found his wife. The guards started to look for the culprit as they ripped off masks none too gently from everyone. So, to save himself the hassle, he simply took his off and turned to move back inside, but they seemed to have other ideas. They tried to get him to leave after looking at his face, but he refused to go. "My wife is still in there," he growled, struggling against the hands that were trying to push him through the exit.

The guards forcing him out paused in their efforts by a commotion inside. It looked like they found a suspect hiding within a group of people being hustled toward the door. When they tried to remove his mask, the man jerked away from their hands and the soldiers became instantly hostile as they drew their swords. The people closest to them screamed and scattered as the armed men started to fight the suspicious individual. Alessandro couldn't see the man too well through all the moving bodies as civilians rushed to safety and soldiers circled their opponent. It didn't seem fair that so many attacked one person at the time, but dismissed this thought as he caught the flash of gold and crimson. His blood ran cold when he saw his wife was part of the small huddle of people the suspect had hidden in. The tailor gasped as a guard -in an attempt to run the culprit through- almost stabbed his Carlotta with his sword, but Alessandro was shocked and grateful as she was yanked away at the last second by the one they were attacking.

Finally, Alessandro got a good look at him, and saw he was wearing a hooded white tunic with crimson horizontal lines, and a blood-red sash around his waist with a triangle-like symbol on it, and dark brown pants that were almost black. He also wore born boots, a reddish cape draped over his left shoulder with a crest he couldn't see from this distance, but at the moment it was thrown behind him, and his face was obscured with a golden mask.

When the strange man pushed her out of the way of another attack meant for him, Alessandro was incensed and enough was enough. He punched one of the soldiers keeping him back, kicked another in the stomach, and bodily tackled the third which had managed to draw his sword. Alessandro scrambled to his feet and rushed over to the fight, but cursed at realizing they had both been surrounded, and it was taking some swift movements for the man to keep his wife from being harmed. Meanwhile, Alessandro recovered a sword from a dead soldier to join in the fight, but only to get Carlotta out of there.

A scream has his head snapping up and Alessandro keens, a wail of despair that doesn't even sound human. Carlotta is impaled on the sword of a soldier, the strange man engaged by three more and unable to get to her, and as Alessandro watches -frozen in horrified shock- the man growls in annoyance and shoves her off his sword. "Troia," he remarks as he spits. She collapses to the ground and he doesn't spare her a second glance before turning back to the white robed man.

 _"Carlotta!"_ It takes him a moment to realize that the animalistic howl is coming from him, but by then he's moved and the sword in his hand is driven to the hilt through the soldiers back. Alessandro twists it to sever his spinal cord and lets both man -a corpse now- and weapon drop to the ground before he staggers toward his wife's fallen body.

She's still alive when he reaches her and he can honestly say that its' both a relief and a tragedy as she sobs when he tries to move her. Her hands are pressed tightly to her abdomen and he can tell that her fingers are the only thing keeping her intestines inside of her, and the blood is spilling from the wound is too much and too fast to try and convince himself that she'll be alright.

"M..Mio figlio," she chokes on a mouth full of black blood, and it dribbles down her chin. "Mi...Mio..."

Alessandro's hand closes over hers, covered in blood and trying to valiantly hold herself together. "He's safe," he reassures her, trying to keep her as calm as possible. "Don't worry." He knows his hands are shaking and there are tears running down his face, but he keeps his voice strong and steady for her. "I'll take care of him."

Carlotta smiles past her pain. "L-love him so...so much." She lifts one hand away from her wound and Alessandro doesn't want to look because if he does, he'll start screaming and wailing over the inevitable. Her fingers trace four crimson lines across his cheek. "Love you...always."

The fighting around them has faded away, the corpses of soldiers laying all around, and the mysterious man is gone. Everything in the courtyard which had only minutes ago housed music, joy, and a carefree air has been left like the aftermath of a battlefield. The only sign of life left is a man freely sobbing over the body of a dead woman.

~o~

He was sweaty and his longish, dark brown hair stuck to the back of his neck uncomfortably. They hooted and hollered at him, and even if it was a childish thing to do, he couldn't help but join in the games of his other, younger cousins as they chased each other around the garden. He giggled and ran, and felt his heart pounding in exhilaration. When he was tagged and made to chase after the others, he heard the pounding of hooves and the rattle of a carriage. His head whipped around to look down the road, trying to see who was coming to his uncles' house, since carriages hardly came this far out, only single-riders on horses.

His light brown eyes lit up in bliss as he recognized the family horse and carriage, and abandoned the game to run and meet whom were undoubtedly his parents. He was confused when he spotted only his father and wondered if his mother had laid out in the back of the carriage. The eleven year old slowed down in apprehension as his stomach twisted in nerves.

When Alessandro stopped the carriage, he turned his gaze toward his son as he shuffled anxiously on the path leading up to the house. He left the carriage and moved forward with a profound relief, as if afraid that perhaps he had lost him as well. His strong arms caught him in an embrace as he fell to his knees in front of him, and held him as he hasn't since he'd been so very young. "I'm here, Ulrico," he murmured, burying his nose in his downy hair.

Ulrico was confused and scared as he felt his father's tears soak the dark strands of his hair. He wanted to open his mouth and ask where mother was, but a feeling of unknown terror stopped him and clutched his father harder. Somehow, he seemed to realized that they were all alone now.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Troia - whore, slut (offensive slang)  
> Mio figlio - My son


	9. Bianca Carsidoni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I took almost half a year (actually, it was half a year), I decided to post this earlier than I anticipated. I just realized how close this chapter and the last one are on the time frame. While they don't happen on the same day, they are close enough. This was almost completely written before I even started working on chapter eight, Ulrico Ursini. That's the reason my muses started a war, since Phiod was adamant on posting Bianca Carsidoni before Annetta Abete. However, I stopped the fighting by simply going by whoever was recruited first in the game, Annetta. So, please enjoy this chapter. Also, many happy birthday's to my niece, who is four years old today! Te amo, mamita!

**Chapter Nine:** _Bianca Carsidoni_

_Venezia, 1486_

Bianca sighed forlornly as she stared out of the window of her bedroom, and saw the lights explode in the sky with many wondrous colors. Her father had told her that the fireworks had come from a faraway land called China, and while she didn't exactly know where that was, she knew it meant something special. The only thing that interested the four year old was that the pretty lights lit up the sky, and wished she could go out to see them better than the window, her current vantage point.

Her mother and father had left her with one of her uncles while they went to enjoy the festivities. She was still much too young to go, or at least that's what her mother had told her when she asked to come along. Her other uncle; whom was the second son in the family, and was a bit strange at the best of times, had been eager to go. "I'm going to get me a whore," he'd confessed to the four year old, but she had not understood the meaning of this. She had also not understood that the man's scarred face was unattractive, and he was not right in the head. The child only knew he was funny, and played with her when all the other adults were too busy. Being a child, she tended to disregard the fact that he drooled when he spoke too fast. She was immediately whisked away, so she never saw him get violent from one moment to the next, and always acted on any impulse that entered into his mind.

So, they had to make sure he was watched at all times, and her mother insisted he be kept away from Bianca. However, occasionally, he eluded his brothers and she woke some nights to find him sitting by her bed, staring at her. She wasn't afraid –much too young to know any better– and she would go with him when he came back to his senses. He'd never hurt any of the family, but they were still wary of him. This is the reason Bianca's mother stayed far away from him with Bianca in tow, but she was too young.

Bianca only wanted to play, and he knew so many fun games. He would wake her up in the middle of the night and take her to sit on the railing of the Rialto Bridge to see the sun rising as it hit the Grand Canal so the water sparkled. When they found them, her mother would hug her so tightly she could scarcely breathed as she said something that Bianca couldn't understand because she was crying so hard.

The little girl had so much fun when they went out on the gondola, and played Eagle where he'd lift her up by the stomach over his head and spun her around as they were on the precarious boat. Bianca laughed so hard that she didn't hear the screams from the shore, or her father coming for her in another gondola. She was snatched from him and the fun would end, and be taken away from her uncle.

She was told her uncle wasn't always like that, and had studied medicine. He was a young, brilliant doctor, and his sanity was stripped from him by the one he trusted the most. His wife's lover had bludgeoned him to the point of nearly killing him, and they ran away together. He hadn't died and even made a full recovery, but he was never the same again. It was partly due to his injuries, but mostly the betrayal of his spouse, whom he thought loved him.

Despite his diminishing mental state, he had kept his intellect and at times would show her the various plants that could be used for healing, and those that could be poisonous. Bianca hated her lessons and tended to fall asleep in them, but he made them interesting. He would feed it to the pigeons that came down when you fed them bread crumbs. Bianca learned about life and death in this matter and when that first pigeon hit the ground after falling from the air, things weren't so fun anymore.

~o~

Bianca groaned as she was shaken awake later that night, and slowly sat up as she rubbed her cobalt blue eyes after having been sleeping soundly. When her sight finally adjusted to the gloom, she realized the darkened figure was her uncle. It was earlier than most times he'd awakened her before, and couldn't even see the sky starting to lighten with dawn. The heavens were dark, and only the moon and flickering torches was the only light. Thus, had she been paying attention, she'd have seen the bag he carried, but in her half-asleep state it escaped her notice.

"We're going on a trip, piccola," he giggled, a mad gleam in his eye that belied his sanity. His laugh was always the same and she merely moaned as she removed her legs from under the warm blanket as he went around collecting her clothing and some of her toys which he haphazardly stuffed into the bag where his things had been hastily thrown in.

"Where'r we goin'?" Bianca murmured sleepily as the man picked her up and settled her against his chest, using the crook of his arm to steady her. The girl wrapped her legs around his mid-section, arms around his neck as she buried her face against his throat to ward off the chill of the night.

Her uncle hummed quietly as he turned and carried her out of the room after taking a blanket and draping it over her small body. "Roma," he answered, a grin spreading over his features.

"And mama and papa?" she muttered, a slight slur to her words due to her starting to doze off.

The man paused outside of the house, glancing back as it stood as still as death in the gloom. "They'll be along any minute," he reassured her. He lifted the torch sitting in the metal holder and tossed it flippantly over his shoulder. It hit the floor with a muffled clatter, before rolling across the stone to touch the curtains. They quickly caught fire and within minutes it crawled over everything, creating an inferno to lick and scorch anything it touched. However, there were no screams or any noise from inside to indicate that someone had been in there.

Bianca, unaware of what was happening, buried her head underneath the small blanket covering her body as she yawned. By the time the burning house caught the attention of the neighbors, the man was clamoring onto a caravan that would take them to Roma; the girl sleeping soundly in his arms.

~o~

Bianca quickly ground the seeds with a dash of water within the bowl-like stone she'd found nearby, since she needed them to be mush and thus easier to measure out. When that was finished, she withdrew a small silver spoon from within the pouch hitched at the back of her belt, and scooped up some of the mush. She pulled out a small vial from the same pouch and uncorked it with her teeth, and with great care added the last ingredient to it. The female took great care not to over-do it or the batch would be ruined, and she didn't wish to start from scratch _again_.

Finally, when she was sure she hadn't screwed this one up, the set the spoon back into the stone bowl and quickly corked the vial once again. She then proceeded to shake it vigorously so it would mix well, and when she saw that it had turned a pale green, she returned it to the pouch. Bianca inhaled in relief and glanced at the rest of the mush, and wondered if it would stay long enough for her to prepare more vials. She gave a long-suffering sigh and proceeded to shovel it into a small empty bottle, which she corked as well and put back in the pouch. There was no need to label it, since she knew everything she had inside, and thus wouldn't ever confuse anything. Also, it was easy to distinguish by the color and texture of what was in the vials and bottles.

Although, it was a pain making pain medication and poisons, she truly enjoyed creating them by mixing the ingredients, and also cataloging each type of plant used in the mixtures. Bianca also liked to experiment and try to make stronger medicine, but at times her creations turned out to be the opposite of what she intended. It's how she had made a very lethal and deadly poison.

For a moment, she allowed herself to grin in delight as she removed the small vial from earlier and held it up to the moonlight. She knew her uncle would be pleased with her work. The first time she had made it was at the age of fourteen, and the man had tested it on a stray cat. Bianca had protested against it, since she held great pity for the defenseless animal, but her uncle had simplified it as he was prone to do with everything. "It's better to test it on animals rather than a human being. You wouldn't want your uncle to go to jail for murder, right?"

Bianca had, of course, responded with a no. However, she still felt there had to be another way, but kept silent nonetheless. Her uncle had grown quieter as the years had passed, and had taken to wearing a mask like most doctors she had seen. However, it was different in that, instead of it resembling a bird with a pointy beak, the nose was greatly pronounced. After leaving Venezia, he'd set up a practice in Roma, and she had waited for parents that would never come.

Bianca had been inconsolable for days, and refused to leave the room he'd given her. One day, he'd dragged her out and took her out to buy and collect specimens. Afterwards, he had bought her seeds for plants used for medicinal purposes, which she had planted in a small garden behind the building. Bianca would spend her mornings studying what he gave her, and her afternoons taking care of the garden.

He had taken care of her when she'd been abandoned, and felt she owed him her very life so she never defied him. After all, it was only a single cat. Afterwards, Bianca either didn't notice, or didn't want to see how a stray disappeared almost every day. So, most of Centro was devoid of feline and canine alike.

Her uncle was usually fascinated by her creations and always insisted on seeing any finished mixtures. So, to please him, she immerged herself more and more into her studies, as well as gaining further knowledge in toxic substances. Bianca was very smart for her age and caught on quick, and while she would never be allowed to be a dottore, she didn't let this stop her in her pursuit of knowledge. So, while she wasn't a doctor in title, she knew she was good enough to be one, and she was only eighteen years old!

When the man asked her to prepare several samples, she would eagerly make it for him, but only after he'd promised never to use them to harm another. She was unaware that he had a buyer who used them for malicious purposes. Her uncle never informed her, and she ignorantly continued making them.

The one she held in her hand now was the most potent, which was a more refined version of her first creation. At the time it had been an incomplete work that caused much agony before killing the victim, and left too many traces. He hadn't been satisfied with the results, and while Bianca didn't understand why leaving no trace was important, she had still taken up the challenge to perfect it. By the time she turned eighteen, there was no trace left besides a sprinkling of white spots on the roof of the mouth and tongue.

The only reason she knew this was because they'd been forced to use it on the soldiers that had come to shut down the doctor's practice. When her uncle had refused to move, they had gotten violent and she had managed to poison the one that tried to carry her off while the other's distracted the man. However, the moment their fellow soldier had fallen, they'd turned their attention away from the doctor, and her uncle had managed to strike. Of course, he only managed to inflict minor wounds, but the blade of his dagger was coated in poison. So, all it took was a single scratch and they succumbed within minutes.

While the man had packed away his things so they could flee, she had examined them and discovered the same spots on every one. Bianca had never told him this, since she hated to disappoint him for not being able to make the poison untraceable. Instead, she was determined to continue developing until she got it right; even if it took another four years.

Bianca's head snapped up as she heard a rustling on the other side of the wall, followed by a muttered curse. Her young woman stuffed the vial back into her pouch and made sure it was closed tightly. After they had fled, the building had been shut down and then left in disrepair, but thankfully, the garden was untouched. So, she would sneak back in the early morning; at dawn when the sky was just lighting up, or at night when the moon was full. She had to be very careful not to be caught or she was sure she'd be hung for murder. A thief could be forgotten and confused by the dozens of others running around. However, a murderer was something different altogether. It seemed that she was always finding a wanted poster of her uncle or her once a week, and would be forced to tear it down. Luckily, these days the soldiers were more interested in a hooded figure and his face was displayed more and more, that petty thieves and people like them took a back seat.

That didn't mean they were ignored when they caught the attention of the guards, so that's why she quickly and nimbly ran at the opposite wall. She jumped at it as her jet-black hair whipped behind her, used a foothold to propel herself up and thus was able to reach the roof that towered almost a foot over her head. With a bit more difficulty than her last movement, she managed to climb up, swing one leg over so she was straddling the wall, and looked down to make sure there was no guards patrolling the dark street. A sigh left her lips at seeing it abandoned and she swung the other leg over and then hopped down, landing with a grunt.

As she stood; her slender waist accentuated by the sleeveless bodice she wore over a man's long sleeved white shirt, the moonlight gleamed against the handles of six daggers. They were sheathed and secured to her wide, thick belt that hung around her thin waist. Inside her brown boots, were two more daggers and buried within a leather bracelet around her wrist were needles, and needless to say, all her weapons were poisoned.

Bianca slunk through the dark streets with the moon and the occasional torch giving her enough light to see, and frequently looked back to make sure she wasn't being followed. Some nights she could swear she saw a white figure in the distance moving rapidly over the rooftops, but it was gone so fast that she imagined it to be a phantom, or just the shadows deceiving her eyes. That night, however, she didn't witness anything strange, and finally made it home ten minutes later. She didn't find it too strange that her uncle was nowhere to be found.

~o~

The morning hustle and bustle of the market assaulted her senses, which were just waking up after having slept poorly last night. Bianca would admit that it was caused by her moonlight adventure that she hadn't been able to rest, but wouldn't have missed the opportunity of a full moon. However, for the moment she allowed last nights events to retreat to the back of her mind as she immerged herself in the cacophony of the market as she weaved in and out of the crowd with ease as she went about her early morning shopping.

Bianca knew the stands to avoid which had bad produce and too high prices. Also, she could spot the pick-pockets and avoid them without making it too obvious that she was doing it. After all, it was a difficult day and age, and while the Borgia and his supporters grew richer, the rest of Roma continued to get poorer.

When she had purchases fresh bread and milk, along with several other necessities, Bianca left the main path and cut through the alleyways. It was dimmer there since the sun hadn't risen high enough yet. Even so, she moved without fear through the back streets as the old, ruins of buildings rose above her head. Her uncle hadn't exactly taught her to fight, but rather, had attacked her when she was distracted or relaxed. This way, she had developed her reflexes and her instincts were almost never wrong.

This is the reason that she heard the almost inaudible gasp and the ensuing sound of a struggle. Bianca withdrew a dagger defensively as she heard the whimpers of a woman, the grunt of a man, and the sharp thud of a body hitting the wall. The young woman winced in sympathy as she also heard a sickening crack, and knew that it was the sound of a skull being split in two.

She looked around the corner from the general direction of the noise and only saw a figure darting away and nothing more. Bianca hurried over to where the person -definitely a man from what she could tell- had been, and stopped dead at the sight. It was a woman crumpled against the ruins of a wall, the splatter of blood showing here her head had connected with the stone, and the horizontal smear where she had slid to the ground.

Her dress was designed to show more than the appropriate amount of cleavage, so Bianca almost immediately knew that it had to be a courtesan. Also, her dark brown hair which had most likely been pulled up had fallen out of its style and hung limply over her face like a curtain. From Bianca's experience, she knew that the woman had to be dead, but she couldn't contain her desire to at least try to help her.

The young woman kneeled next to her after setting her basket aside, checking if she was breathing and sighed when she discovered that she wasn't. Her hand moved up to gently grasp her chin while the other parted her hair, and jerked away as if she'd been burned. "Gabriele," she gasped. Bianca lifted shaking hands to her friend's face again, pushing back her hair which was caked in dirt and blood, and gently closed her eyes. "W-who could have done this?"

Her eyes drifted back over Gabriele's body to look for something that would point her to what had happened, or who may have hurt her. She frowned when she saw a doctor's syringe laying by the body, and picked it up.

Bianca stiffened as she heard footsteps, and scrambled away from the corpse, picked up her basket and fled. She was a good distance away when she heard a scream, and paused only long enough to glance forlornly over her shoulder. The young woman wanted so badly to stay by her friend's side, but she couldn't allow herself to be detained by the soldiers for questioning. She lifted the syringe and saw that there were only a few drops left inside, and frowned now that she got a good look at it.

Her breath quickened as she saw the pale green color of the liquid and fumbled inside of her pouch. She hadn't been able to drop the vial off with her uncle since he hadn't shown up before she left, so she still had it on her. Now she lifted it up and compared it to the liquid in the syringe. Bianca's blood was like ice-water in her veins as she saw how similar they were. "No, it's not possible," she whispered in disbelief. Because she couldn't fathom how a syringe filled with _her_ poison had ended up next to her friend's murdered body.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dottore - doctor


	10. Augusto Fornari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came easier, and my muse, Remi came out of her dark corner to help with this one. So, thankfully it's not dark like the last two chapters. I hope to get the next chapter out next week, or at least before the end of the month. My bad week continues with loses for the teams I'm rooting for, so I have good feelings of frustration and anger to work with, lol
> 
> Zero612 (fanfiction.net), this ones' for you. Enjoy.
> 
> [Edit: October 11, 2012. I changed the first few paragraphs of this chapter to include a description of where I'd like the house to be. If you look and follow the instructions, you may find the house in the game, lol.]

**Chapter Ten:** _Augusto Fornari_

_Roma, 1492_

Augusto grunted with the effort it took to lift all his father's tool and lug them back inside the man's shop. When he'd finally finished, he sighed in relief before rubbing his sore shoulders. The 10-year-old had been helping his father since sunrise, and the man had left him half-way through the day to attend some business and he had to finish and put everything away. He was finally done with everything and had just now finished his chores, and judging by the position of the sun, it was well past noon. "Augusto," a small voice called out, and turned to see a girl a few inches shorter than him.

Actually, she was taller than him by three inches, but she liked to curl in on herself and thus giving him a smaller appearance. Augusto smiled at the timid girl and moved forward to take the bowl of broth she had in her hand. They didn't speak and after locking the shop they climbed onto the back wall and then up on the shop. The main road passed close to their house.

Their house was in the north-east part of the Campagna District. From where they were sitting on the roof, they could make out a lot. Toward the east was their small market, and where their father had his Fabbro shop. To the south was the Terme Di Diocleziano, which his sister and him had wandered into the old imperial baths almost a year back. If they were to go down the steps and go north there was a rarely used path that met with the road that wound through the cliffs, and following it north-east would ensure that you reached Porta Pinciana. Then, to the west was all of Roma, and one could barely make out the Centro District.

Their father always warned them over going up onto the roof of the shop, since one misstep could cause them to tumble down. A grown man or woman would likely end up bruised or with some minor wounds, but a child was likely to break a leg, an arm, or their necks. So, it was a good thing the children's father had not returned from the market yet or they'd be getting yelled at.

The boy handed her his bread and she took it with a small smile. "You shouldn't curl into yourself too much, Fabiola," he gently chastised her. Her light brown eyes darted toward him momentarily before lowering as her long lashes fluttered down, and if her straight, black hair hadn't been pinned back, then it would have spilled forward to hide her whole face.

"I'm taller than the boys," she muttered, flushing in humiliation just thinking about it.

A glare twisted his features. "They haven't been harassing you, have they?" he demanded angrily. She usually kept to herself while he had his friends, and she always refused to hang around him when he was with them. Augusto, frankly, didn't understand the reason, since they were really great and he was sure they'd welcome her presence.

Fabiola shook her head quickly at sensing he was getting riled just thinking about it. "No, of course not." Augusto sighed and nodded, leaning to the side against her. She relaxed and leaned into him as well. Augusto hated that his sister was so timid, but nothing he tried could seem to change it. He remembered one of the incidents that had made her so self-conscious about her height. Earlier that year they'd gone to Venezia for Carnevale, and by that time Fabiola had an early growth spurt. While their father had gone off to meet with a friend and fellow blacksmith, he'd left them in the courtyard where they were having events for children. During one such event, the girls had to be paired off with the boys, and none of them wanted to be paired with Fabiola. Finally, Augusto had abandoned his own partner and paired with her. Instead of making things better, it had only increased the taunting as the girls joined in as well. One boy had made a particularly nasty remark, and Augusto had instinctively punched him. It had quickly degraded from a fist fight into just wrestling on the filthy ground. In the end, one of the adults helping with the events had to pull him off the other boy.

They'd been kicked out of the events for instigating violence, and they had to go looking for their father. However, the man wasn't there when they finally arrived, and the blacksmith's helper said they had probably gone to the festival games, since they'd been talking about them. So, they had no choice but to go looking for them, and check them one by one. It didn't help that they were spaced such a distance away, but were determined to continue on. They were tightly gripping hands so as not to get separated, and soon they'd stopped looking for him and enjoyed the games, ―or at least those they weren't turned away from for being too young― the food, and most people didn't pay them any mind.

When it started getting dark, did they start to get worried as to their father's whereabouts. They set off once again to look for him but soon realized they'd gotten lost, and all the while it was getting late. The events were held late and when they started to pack up, they asked where the children's events had been held. Finally, they were pointed in the right direction and set off, all the while hoping that they didn't get lost again. The children found their father drunk in the abandoned courtyard.

Their father had even been a man of vice, but ever since their mother had died two years ago of pneumonia; he'd turned to the bottle for comfort. For a while, their house maid had to raise them, since he would drink himself into a drunken sleep after closing the shop. It went on for the longest time, and it seemed inevitable they'd lose him to the alcohol and be left orphans. However, they were all shocked when the meek housemaid had slapped some sense into him ―literally, and left his cheek red― and cussed him out for abandoning the twins. Their father had taken a good look around and didn't like what he saw. Everything went back to some semblance of normal, but the dependency on the alcohol hadn't faded completely. So, finding him drunk like this was a heavy blow for them.

Amidst the drunken ramblings and choked sobs, they'd learned that the man had thought them dead. The other blacksmith, a man by the name of Federico had turned up shortly after that and explained that both men had come to look for them after they left to take them to the games. When he didn't find them he had panicked and had searched everywhere, and never realizing they were moving in opposite directions as the men searched the other children events while the twins looked in the adult ones. They were told that the bodies of two children were found in the canal and brought to the local doctors for an examination to determine the cause of death. Their father had been beside himself with grief, and convinced that it was his children, and wouldn't listen to reason. While Federico had gone to the dottore to check if the bodies had been identified, the other had stumbled into a nearby tavern to get drunk. Soon after that, he wandered back to where he had originally left them and collapsed onto the ground.

The twins could only imagine the pain he had felt at thinking them dead, and Fabiola had blamed herself. Mostly, she faulted her "freakish body" for having caused the altercation between her brother and the other boy which got them kicked out. Since then, she had started to curl into herself to make it seem like she was smaller, and it also didn't help that she was stronger than any of the boys; Augusto included.

Augusto was convinced that if she trained her arms then she'd be stronger than any man when they grew up. He glanced at his sister as she happily ate the bread and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the cliffs to the north-west. The boy knew she'd never intentionally make herself stronger. She was obsessed with becoming a shy, demure girl and Augusto didn't want that to happen. Before, her fiery spirit is what he had loved the most about his sister.

A wince twisted his features as his shoulder muscles started to cramp and quickly tried to massage it away. He didn't know Fabiola had moved until he felt firm, but gentle hands start to massage his sore shoulders. Augusto exhaled in relief as she kneaded his muscles and worked out all the kinks, and soon they stopped cramping.

"M-maybe I can help you...carry Papa's tools tomorrow," she whispered, as if afraid he would refuse her offer. As if he'd ever be such a fool! He groaned in appreciation, and as always, she knew what he was trying to say without uttering a single word. "Alright, tomorrow then." Meanwhile, Augusto was formulating a plan in his head to get her back to her former, spirited self.

~o~

Augusto straightened with a tired sigh, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat and soot from his forehead. He lifted the sword he'd been working on and aligned it with his sight, and groaned when he realized it was still crooked. It seemed that no matter how much he hammered the red-hot metal, he still couldn't get it right. He knew that growing frustrated with it but had been working at it most of the morning, and although he knew it couldn't be perfect, the sword would be unusable.

He stopped sulking long enough to check on his sister's progress. His mouth thinned into a frown when he lifted the sword she'd fashioned by herself. It was far from perfect, but far better than anything he'd made before. He was second-hand training her from what his father taught him and Fabiola had caught on quicker than Augusto, and coupled with her strength, she was a natural. Augusto hated to admit his faults out loud, but he knew that compared to his sister, he had a weaker constitution. In all the fights he'd gotten in to defend her ―because she was still a girl and his sister― Augusto had no doubt she would have come out of the fights unmarred. However, it was the principle of the matter, and would never be such a coward as to let her deal with it alone.

"I'm sorry." His sister's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "I didn't mean to upset you." She toed the ground with her boot, which was too big on her feet but she had to use his old pair since their father would never agree to buy her men's boots. Also, they had to sneak around and not let him know that Fabiola was doing metal work, or he'd have his hide. Now, looking at what he'd crafted and what she did, then he would probably step aside and let her do it all. She clearly enjoyed doing it, since it seemed to be an outlet for all her bottled up emotions, and little by little, she was becoming bolder.

Augusto smiled and set the sword aside. "I'm not upset," he reassured her. He looked over her first attempts to make the smaller dagger and throwing knives, and had to admit that soon she wouldn't need his instruction. Hell, she could probably do without him now, and he didn't quite know how to feel about that. It had always been assumed that he would be a blacksmith like their father, and his sister would be bred to marry someone above her station. That's what was normal, and looking at the evidence that she could do this better than him, he felt overwhelmed, and lost. _'If I step aside, then what's left for me?'_

A hand on his shoulder once more brought the twelve-year-old out of his thoughts and glanced at Fabiola and saw her apprehensive expression. He inhaled slowly before giving her a smile, and hoped she didn't see how strained it was. "I'm just shocked at how good you've gotten in just two years." He gave a few swipes with the sword after picking it up once more. "Soon, these will be good enough to sell at the market," he complimented her, and was pleased as she beamed happily at the praise.

"Tomorrow I'll show you how to make crossbow bolts," he informed her. At least he still had one thing to teach her, and it was one of the only things he was actually good at. Augusto was sure she would take to it as easily as everything else. Afterwards, he wondered what he would do. Any household chores were taken care of by the housemaid, Caterina, so Fabiola usually had a lot of free time on her hands. Now, Augusto would be the one with nothing to do, except maybe practice his swordplay. He'd always assumed he would be a blacksmith like his father, but over the years he had come to realize he had no talent for it. So, now he was faced with a sense of uncertainty.

His dark brown eyes moved toward his sister's jubilant face and steeled his resolve. Augusto would never share with her his feelings of inadequacy, and just guide her for a little while longer before he allowed her to fly on her own.

~o~

Augusto put the tools away with ease, since he was use to doing it after years of practice. He'd grown stronger in two years and could do it by himself, and besides, today Fabiola couldn't help him with it. She was having a painting lesson, which is something his father suddenly came up with. The neighbors down the road had a daughter about Fabiola's age, and she too lessons. Augusto didn't know how much of that was true, but their father had gotten it into his head that a proper lady should have such hobbies, and there was usually no changing his mind. He wasn't sure it was the right thing for Fabiola, but knew that his argument that she should be a blacksmith would be a bad idea. He'd likely beat him unconscious for daring to corrupt his "little girl", but he didn't see it that way. Augusto felt that he was letting her live.

When he was finished, he moved onto the house and see just what this painting nonsense was all about. Although, getting a chance to tease his sister over having to do something so "girly", as she had called it. Frankly, he didn't know a single thing about painting, and whether it was something only women did, or not. Thus, he wanted to see for himself.

He climbed up the steps to the back entrance, took off his dirty boots at the door, and moved inside. Augusto heard the soft murmur of voices, and proceeded forward carefully. When he was at the doorway of the sitting room, he peered around the corner. The pre-teen was surprised to see that the art teacher was a man, and amazed at all the sketches that were pinned all over the room. There were ones of people, animals, inanimate objects, and landscapes. They looked so life-like that he wouldn't have been too surprised if the people started talking, or the animals were to move.

Augusto was so engrossed with trying to seem them all at once that he didn't hear his father come in until he lay a hand on his shoulder, startling the boy. "Padre," he greeted as he followed the older man outside; the instructor's voice fading away. As he helped the older man with the cart, his mind inadvertently wandered back to the man's sketches. He wondered how such realistic drawings would look with color.

Later, while Fabiola went upstairs to take a bath, he snuck into the sitting room where everything had been left as it was. The instructor would come back tomorrow and they hardly ever had any guests, so the room was barely used. Augusto glanced behind him to make sure nobody saw him, but knew that Caterina was doing the after dinner clean up, and his father was outside in his shop, so no one would see him slip inside.

The curtains had been drawn and when he closing the door behind him would plunge the room into darkness, so it was a good thing he'd brought a candle. He got as close as he dared, since he didn't want to accidentally burn the magnificent drawings. From close up he could see the detail that went into the landscapes, the particular shade of a wolf's pelt, or the pupils of a person's eye. Even if his father considered it a woman's hobby, Augusto didn't think it was. After all, his sister's teacher was a man, and while he'd been listening today he heard examples of great painters; all men. So, the more he thought of it, the more it appealed to him.

As he retired to his room that night after his bath, he took a bit of his unused parchment, and drew a curve in the middle of it and paused. Although Augusto had the sudden desire to draw, he didn't know how or what to sketch.

A sudden idea occurred to him as he remembered his sister's sour face that afternoon. If he could convince Fabiola ―which he was certain he could do without too much persuasion― then they could switch places. She could do all the metal work and he'd sit in her place for the art lessons.

He knew that anyone seeing it from an outside point of view would think him weak and lazy, but it wasn't that at all. Augusto had no talent, and frankly, no patience for metal work. While he wanted his father to be proud of him, he knew his shoddy craftsmanship would never gain him favor, and he grew guiltier every time the man complimented him on work that wasn't his. Granted, them switching wouldn't guarantee his sister got the praise she deserved, but at least he'd get her out of her hated lessons, and doing something she clearly loved.

Augusto turned back to the parchment and turned the curve into a crescent along with a few bulbous figures he thought slightly resembled clouds. If he squinted it looked like the crescent moon outside his window, and wondered how much better it would be after switching with his sister. Fabiola was the worse drawer, and her best attempts only garnered a frown from their father. So, if he could draw better and she showed it off, and their father smiled, then he'd know that _he_ was the one that had put that expression there.

The thought of that slightly eased the inadequacy he felt within himself.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabbro - Blacksmith


	11. Fabiola Fornari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me and became even longer than I had originally intended. However, both Phiod and ReZ worked on it together (I was scared outta my mind most of the time, and feared the violence that would happen between them), and it turned darker and darker. So sorry, but it had to be written. Also, I'm not sure what the average height for ten and twelve year olds is, so bare with me. On with the show. Note, the dash is stupid and won't work, so the equals sign is being substituted. I just hope that it works this time.
> 
> [Edited: January 24, 2013]

**Chapter Eleven:** _Fabiola Fornari_

Roma, 1491

It hadn't happened over night, or else the neighbors would have grounds for accusing her of being a witch of some kind; not that it stopped them from doing it anyways. No, the process had started over the summer of last year when they noticed that Fabiola was an inch taller than Augusto. At the time, Fabiola had laughed it off and mercilessly teased her twin brother. Augusto had sulked and swore that he would grow two inches and surpass her. Only, it hadn't happened quite how he predicted. He had grown two more inches that summer, and Fabiola had shot up four. It continued that way and by the time they were ten-years-old, Augusto was four feet and two inches, and Fabiola was four feet and seven inches.

At first, it was just her brother's annoyance she had to deal with, but during the festa for their birthday, she'd realized that she was taller than all the boys her age. During the whole event =even if her brother wasn't aware, since he was a loveable, but gullible fool= the boys shunned her due to her height, and the girls' because they liked her brother and he paid them little mind to focus on her. Augusto made it worse when he noticed that she was upset and spent most of the party trying to cheer her up. The only time he left her was when a group of his friends had insisted he come play with them, and dragged him off.

Fabiola smiled slightly as they started to move to the edge of the dancing adults and started to mimic them, and generally making fools of themselves. As she laughed to herself, one of the other boys approached her and she glanced warily at him. "Damn, you're pretty tall," he exclaimed with a smile that was all teeth. He was her brother's height, so she had at least five inches on him, and she could tell that he was taunting her now and bristled in anger. "Are you sure Augusto is really your brother?" She felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. "I mean, your hair colors are not the same, you have very different eyes, and you're as tall as a tree." Her hand went unconsciously to the strands of her jet-black hair that was nowhere similar to his dark brown strands, and her eyes were light brown while his were a dark brown.

"Shut up," she hissed as he continued to taunt her with this knowledge, knowing that she was doubting herself. When he stated that her mother had most likely been a baby snatcher that had stolen Augusto, she snapped and lunged at him with a scream. They tumbled back and she landed on him as she straddled his mid-section, and the loud music drowned out the sound of the scuffle as Fabiola rained down hits on him. She was winning since she'd always been stronger than a boy, and because she'd surprised him. However, she suddenly felt someone grab her and she was thrown roughly to the ground.

"She fights like a boy," growled the one she attacked. He staggered to his feet and Fabiola saw that his mouth and teeth were painted crimson and some of the blood was dribbling down his chin.

"Then we'll treat her like one," one of the other two boys answered, but Fabiola didn't get to determined who as all three of them started to mercilessly kick her. She was still on the ground and could do nothing more than protect her head from the blows. Her screams hadn't gone unnoticed and she heard a furious shout and one of her attackers was tackled to the ground. Fabiola got a reverie from the hits and saw that it was Augusto, who stood quickly and kicked the other boy viciously in the face. He had always been fast and he was upon her other two abusers in an instant, and knocked them away from her. She could tell he wanted to inflict more damage to them, but instead hurried to Fabiola's side as she sat up with a wince. He fell to his knees in front of her and he hissed in anger at seeing her face.

There was a cut on her forehead oozing blood into her left eye, her lip was swollen and cut with blood smeared over them, and she had a dark, ugly bruise on the left side of her jaw. Fabiola knew there were more on her body since she hurt all over, but didn't say anything to him as he pulled her into a hug as she grimaced in pain. He was turned away from them, but she had a clear view over his shoulder of her brother's friends. There were two boys and three girls that everyone considered nice and friendly, and were certainly popular. However, seeing them now as they watched the siblings, Fabiola saw no kindness in their eyes as they looked right at _her_.

One of the girls, Ginevra glared at her and ran her thumb like a knife across her throat before pointing at Fabiola. Her light brown eyes widened in shock and she stiffened as they snickered among themselves. Augusto pulled back with a frown and asked her what was wrong. Fabiola discreetly looked at the small group of his sneering friends as Ginevra put her finger to her mouth to indicate silence. She swallowed and shook her head.

"Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing."

~o~

Fabiola smiled at the merchant as he handed her the apples and she placed them carefully in the basket she had hanging from her left arm. When she paid him, she moved on to the next stand to get the last item; the milk.

This morning she had woken from a nightmare, and couldn't find sleep again. It was earlier than she normally got up, since she tended to be up by sunrise but she had gotten ready for the day. Caterina; the housemaid had obviously overslept that day and she rushed out of the back room that she claimed as hers, and in an attempt to help her, Fabiola had offered to buy the necessary things for breakfast. The woman had been understandably hesitant, since the young girl had never went to the market by herself before. Also, her father sheltered her and had her do things only proper for an "upper class lady", since he wanted to marry her to someone of a higher status than they currently were.

The twelve-year-old thought she was much too young to be thinking of such things, and indulged her father whenever she had to. She knew that Caterina was getting older and thus wanted to learn what needed to have to take over household. So, Fabiola had reassured the older woman that she would have no trouble buying fruit, milk, and bread. Now, here she was.

When she had finally purchased the milk, she grinned happily at her accomplishment and started home. She had left the house when the sky had still been dark but now the sun had already risen, and soon her brother and father would be up and would probably be hungry. The girl was giddy with excitement at the thought of being complimented on successfully bringing breakfast.

She blinked as she realized she was close to her father's shop, which would be closed at the time. However, it had been a long time since she had seen it and figured that a few minutes out of her way wouldn't make a difference, so she jogged in that direction.

Fabiola looked around as she entered the area the shop was located at and she moved around the large tree that stood almost in front of it. Directly across from the Fabbro shop there was a stand that sold cuts of meat, and then across from that one was a stand of spices and herbs. She now leaned against the truck of the tree, and if she turned far to the left there was a Marcante de D'arte as well. She inhaled deeply and caught the whiff of hay in the air from the stables nearby. Most of the stands were closed still, but soon they would be bustling with activity and if she were to stay longer and listen carefully, she'd be able to hear the doctor from his stand down the road when he opened. "Come, there's no need to be shy!" However, for now the market was almost quiet if not for the early morning stands that opened at dawn.

The young girl sighed as she straightened at last, ran her hand across the rough surface of the tree trunk, and moved west to go back home. She was passing by the stables and heard the horses' soft nickering coming from the stalls. Fabiola ducked under the fence and peered in curiously for a moment and giggled when a pure white mare snorted at her. As she was about to leave, she heard a voice that made her shiver in fear.

"Look, one of the horses escaped from its stall." She stiffened as she whirled around and saw Ginevra and her cousin Leonello standing at the opening in the fence that surrounded the stables. The other three were sitting spread out on the fence, and all with wicked grins that made Fabiola gulp nervously. "Maybe we should return it where it belongs. After all, something that big is likely to hurt someone." They all cackled in ribald laughter as the two boys jumped off the fence to approach her and Fabiola stumbled back into the door to the stall, but there was nowhere to go.

Over the last two years of torture they had submitted her to both physical and verbal, she had learned their names, and they were all engraved permanently into her mind. The ringleaders were Ginevra and Leonello d'Este; cousins on their father's side. Then there were the Cellini sisters, Nucca and Mea, and finally the worst of her aggressors was Ottavio Farnese.

Ottavio was the oldest of her brother's friends, almost fifteen now, and while Ginevra humiliated and told her how ugly she was; he didn't say such things. Ottavio had cornered Fabiola alone one day last month and she had cowered against the wall while he'd touched her face, her arms, her sides and he had whispered how beautiful he thought she was. His face had been so close and his hot breath had puffed on her cheeks and mouth. She'd been terrified of what he may do, but her brother's voice calling her name caused him to back off.

However, while in a group he didn't say such things, but he leered at her all the time. Now Leonello and Ottavio grabbed her by the arms and forced her to her knees as Ginevra approached, grabbing her chin within her hand and staring down at her with contempt. If Fabiola had been standing then she would have had to tilt her head back, since she was taller than Ginevra by almost seven inches. She couldn't believe that this hateful girl was the person her brother had a crush on, and whom she knew liked him so much that it was practically an obsession. He could understand the attraction, since she had blond hair and hazel eyes, and was small and slender.

She felt one of the boys holding her dig his knee into her back, and realized it was Leonello. He was the boy she had always liked, and was very alike in appearance to his cousin with blonde hair and slightly darker hazel eyes. However, Fabiola's interest in him had shriveled up and died as her fear for these five individuals grew. Because when before she had seen beauty in his fair features, now all she saw was the cruel twist of his mouth and hate in his eyes as he tormented her along with the rest of them.

"I don't know how such a giant, ugly... _thing_ like you could be Augusto's sister." Fabiola had never considered herself neither ugly or beautiful, but after two years of the same comments, she was starting to believe her. Ginevra moved her head from one side to the other and hissed as her neck was strained. She would have jerked away if she could, but both Leonello and Ottavio had her arms gripped tightly.

"There's nothing worth looking at here, but for some reason, Augusto is protective of this hideous face." Fabiola felt Ottavio's left hand dig into her right arm as he stood just slightly behind her, and the tall girl bit back a sob when she felt his fingers treading discreetly into the strands of her black hair. "So, we'll leave it alone, for now," Ginevra's voice made her focus on her, but before she could comprehend her words she was being thrown to the ground.

One of the boys had ripped the basket from her arm =most likely Leonello= and two sets of hands tangled in her hair courtesy of the Cellini sisters and she was dragged by the strands across the filthy, hay covered ground. Fabiola tried clawing at the hands in vain as she cried out in pain. "Take her shoes!" she heard Ginevra shout as the boys chanted and urged the two girls on.

As one continued to tug her hair so hard that she was afraid they'd rip chunks out, the other started to try and yank her shoes off, and nobody noticed that Fabiola's screams had attracted the attention of a near-by patrol. "What's going on here?" one of the soldiers shouted. Fabiola's aggressors immediately scattered, leaving their victim panting on the ground. She heard pounding footsteps and the clank of metal as three of the four man patrol gave chase, while the fourth member crouched next to the fallen girl.

"Are you alright?" he murmured. Fabiola's shoulders were shaking in both relief and grief. Her hair was tangled and dirty, and was spilling into her face as she lifted her face. She resembled little more than a beggar with her now filthy clothes, and wanted to crawl under a rock in humiliation at having been seen like this. Her eyes focused on the soldier trying to help her, and saw that he was only a year or two older than Ottavio; possibly fifteen or sixteen. From under his helmet she could make out light brown hair that went well with his tanned, handsome features, but what had her momentarily mesmerized were his blue-green eyes which at the moment were giving her a pitying look.

"Are you hurt?" he asked more gently when she only stared at him, raising a gloved hand to her face. As soon as his fingers brushed against her dirt-smudged cheek, she flinched away and scrambled to her feet. Before he could stop her, she had grabbed the fallen basket and dashed out of the stable. The young man had raised a hand as if to stop her, but lowered it with a sigh. Instead, he stood as he grabbed a forgotten apple, and watched her retreating back as her ebony hair chased after her.

~o~

Fabiola lay in bed later that morning with her face buried within her arms. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs as Caterina sat beside her and ran a brush through her damp, clean hair. "It's alright," the woman soothed her. "Signore Gasparo did not mean to yell at you. He was just upset at the state you showed up in, and did not intend for your feelings to be hurt."

The girl had not dared to tell them what had truly happened, and had lied and said that she'd been running and tripped before falling down. Mostly, it was because she feared that her brother would believe his friends instead of her. The look of disappointment and her father yelling at her at the ruined fruit and nearly empty milk bottle had almost made her confess the truth, but she'd held her tongue. Another reason was that she was afraid of what else they may do to her, and how much worse it would be. So, she would endure and grieve in silence, and hope that things would get better with time.

The abuse would continue for a very long time.

~o~

Fabiola lifted the sword she'd just finished crafting with a sense of accomplishment as she lifted it and inspected it before setting it aside with the rest. As soon as their father had left for the market early that morning, the siblings had traded places and while Augusto finished a commissioned painting, Fabiola had worked to finish the orders that had to be delivered tomorrow. It was three bundles of 15 throwing daggers, a Notched Cinquedea and a Channeled Cinquedea, and a long sword. It was now nearing dusk and she had just managed to get done, so she had to hurry up and get cleaned up.

The seventeen-year-old girl always made sure to always wear padded gloves when working so she wouldn't get calluses, and Caterina =who had figured out what they were doing as soon as Augusto started teaching Fabiola how to do metal work= massaged her hands and feet almost every day. The middle-aged woman knew that keeping this from their father would likely get her thrown out, and then she would have nowhere to go. After all, she had never married and started to work for their family just after the twins parents had been married. It had taken them almost ten years to conceive, and afterwards their mother, Fiora had grown weaker as if the birthing had drained her life. It was the reason she'd succumbed so easily to the fever that had quickly turned into pneumonia which had claimed her life.

She had basically raised them, and after so many years, she was the closest thing to a mother that Fabiola or her brother had ever known. So, Fabiola worried about what would become of her when =not if, because it was something inevitable= her father found out.

Fabiola shook herself out of her musing as she exited the metal shop and into the dying afternoon light, and gasped as she saw her father's cart approaching just over the hill. She broke into a run to the back door, slamming through it and rushing to warn her brother. The former guest room had been converted five years ago into her brother's workshop, and while she usually knocked, this time there was no time for politeness. Although, she instantly regretted it as she froze at the threshold as she saw the model for Augusto's latest painting. Ginevra's blond hair was loose and flowing to her milky shoulders, and she was obviously naked under the blood-red silks that were draped over her to conserve her modesty, but not that it mattered since they were practically see-through.

Augusto and Ginevra both turned with stunned and furious expressions as Fabiola's hand trembled on the doorknob. "F-father is almost here," she stuttered. It spurred Augusto into action as he grabbed and dragged his sister toward the changing screens. There were two facing each other but curled so they would hide them from both from Ginevra and one another as they exchanged clothing.

At seventeen, they were now almost the same height at 5 feet and 7 inches, but while she hadn't grown a single inch in the last year; Augusto was half an inch taller, and Fabiola was so relieved. Although, she was still fairly tall compared to someone like Ginevra who was only 5 feet and 2 inches.

Augusto rushed to the basin of clean water to wash his hands and face of any paint, but needed to use soap to get the job done. "Augusto, where are you?" Fabiola heard their father yell and saw her brother flinch. She quickly tossed off her gloves at him as he went, smearing the soot from them on some of his face and arms before disappearing out the door. Fabiola heard their father ask what he'd been doing in his sister's workshop, and he muttered an excuse of trying to sneak a peek at the naked model. The young woman breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Gasparo only chuckle in amusement.

As they moved away, she opened the window to dump out the used water before re-filling it with clean water from the jug to wash her own face and hands. While she smudged some paint on her cheek and fingers, Ginevra got dressed but all the while Fabiola could feel her eyes boring into her back.

"Aren't you ashamed when you claim Augusto's paintings as your own?" she sneered. Ginevra and the rest of his brother's friends had found out the truth almost a year ago. Of course, they'd been accepting while Augusto was around, but the next time they had caught her alone had been excruciating. Usually, they only shoved her around, stole her shoes or parts of her clothes, inflicted injuries where no one would see, and bombard her with verbal abuse. However, that time Ginevra had been so incensed that she'd punched her hard enough to hurt her own wrist, and Fabiola's left eye had swollen shut.

It hadn't been easy explaining that one to both her father and brother, but it helped that Ginevra hadn't come around for almost two weeks to hide her own injury. She'd told Augusto she'd pulled too hard on the clamps when they got stuck in the grate of the heath and it had knocked into her eye, and Gasparo had believed her when she told him she'd accidentally hit herself with one of the larger paintbrushes. They'd both just shaken their heads in exasperation at her "continued clumsiness" and told her to be careful, and if she wasn't so distressed over all the lies, she would have been amused how similar they were despite being so different.

"I don't enjoy doing it, but it's necessary," she muttered quietly. She could pretend to be as spirited as she wanted in front of her brother, but the truth was that she felt like a weak, scared little girl in front of Ginevra and the others. "This way, Augusto can do what he loves." Fabiola was careful to leave out the fact that blacksmithing was something she loved as well. Ginevra's anger and hate toward her was sated if she focused her attention on Augusto. Over the years she had become more infatuated with him, and grew jealous if any girl even looked at him for more than a minute. She was the most jealous when Augusto ditched her to spent time with Fabiola.

Ginevra hummed thoughtfully and moved toward the door; however, she paused before exiting the room. "Don't think I'll forget that little stunt you pulled by barging in here without knocking. I'm disgusted that you saw my perfect body naked." She snorted in derision as she looked her over and promptly left the room. Fabiola staggered back into the chair behind her, and covered her face with her hands and not for the first time, prayed for strength to be able to endure the daily torture.

~o~  
 _  
'I need one of you to do this for me.'_

_'I'll do it.'_

_'Fine. Make it hurt.'_

_'Of course.'_

_'Now, two mornings from today...'_

~o~

Fabiola stifled a yawn as she left the house as her breath came out as a white cloud, and wrapped her shawl more tightly around herself to ward off the cold. She checked her pouch to make sure she had the necessary Fiorini to buy what she needed. After all, her father had told her that they would have a special guest that morning, and Fabiola couldn't for the life of her figure out who it could be. Since it would be another addition then she would have to buy more, and thus had gotten up earlier.

She grunted as she felt hands grab her from behind before one of them clamped firmly over her mouth. Fabiola screamed against the fingers to no avail as she was bodily dragged off the main road and into the nearby stables. The adolescent remembered this place well and she whimpered as she was flung roughly into one of the empty stalls.

The door slammed closed behind her attacker, making it darker and she scrambled away from the looming figure. "Five years," a voice growled, and felt terror grip her when she recognized it as Ottavio's. "Now, you're finally going to be mine."

"No!" She tried to punch at him as he approached, but he caught her fist in a firm hold before twisting her around so it was pinned against her back in a painful position. "Please," she sobbed as she felt his heavier body settle over her.

He didn't answer as he rutted against her rear and tears stung her eyes as she felt something hard. Fabiola may have been a virgin but she wasn't a fool as to what men and women did, and she knew what was about to happen. She knew that even if she complied, Ottavio would not be gentle and so she struggled as much as she could. "HELP ME!" she screamed, hoping someone would hear her.

She saw stars when his fist slammed into the back of her head and went limp underneath him; dazed but not unconscious. Fabiola was vaguely aware of his hands using something sharp to cut and rip away her dress, Kirtle and Chemise. Her skin prickled in goose bumps when it was exposed to the cold air, and she weakly lifted her head. "Augusto, help me," she whimpered.

Her next breath was let out as a scream.

~o~

Dawn. The versicolor sky was a magnificent sight to indicated that it would be a glorious morning. However, in a small corner of a horse stall a shaking figure curled into herself in grief; trying to hide from the world and the splendor of dawn's light. "Per favore, venite a me," she whispered the desperate prayer over and over again in between choked sobs. "Dolce morte, portami via." Fabiola prayed for Death to come on swift and silent wings to carry her away from all her pain.

Almost four hours later, this is how Augusto found her and his grief was heard far and wide.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> festa - party, feast, festivity, festival, holiday  
> Marcante de D'arte - Art Merchant  
> Per favore, venite a me - Please, come for me  
> Dolce morte, portami via - Sweet death, take me away


	12. Vittorio Vitelli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter refused to be written later, since it was meant to be chapter fourteen. However, Remi latched onto it even while Phiod fought her on it to post the other character, but when Phiod saw how dark it really was then gave in to Remi's will. So, even if this was meant for later, my muses took this character and ran with him. This is my longest chapter to date, and it has a cameo (the second one names the recruit, so yeah) from another recruit, so see if you can guess, lol. Enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve:** _Vittorio Vitelli_

_Roma, 1493_

The fourteen year old laughed tauntingly as he side-stepped Carlo's sword with ease and countered, but it was blocked. "Andiamo," Vittorio jeered. The youth hopped back from another attack before moving in more closely, and his sword was once again met with the instructors' own weapon. The teenager and the older man's sparing sessions always ended either in a loss for Vittorio or a draw between them. Since there were more draws than losses, he had insisted to his father that he get a more advanced instructor. Of course, he always insisted that Carlo still had a lot of teach him, but had agreed that he would consider it if he managed to defeat the man. He didn't put much stock into the promise since the man had always thought that knowing swordplay was irrelevant, since he always had guards protecting them. Vittorio disliked the idea of putting his own safety into another person's hands, and as a matter of pride, because a man needed to know how to handle a sword.

Vittorio tried an upward swing but Carlo saw it and blocked, twisted his wrist to lock their swords, and when Vittorio tried to force them apart they were both disarmed. The youth panted from the exertion as he yanked his right glove off before shoving his sweaty dark brown hair out of his caramel colored eyes. "Another draw," he bemoaned; since he was sure this time would be a win. He removed the other glove before stuffing them into his pouch and then kneaded his biceps and forearms, so the muscles wouldn't cramp later, and then cracked his finger joints. "As soon as I defeat you in a spar; I'll get father to agree to a more advanced teacher." The man only gave a curt nod before he recovered his sword and stalked out of the room. The boy dismissed his actions, since he was sure Carlo was just angry over having been fought to a draw by someone vastly younger than him.

The man's name had been highly recommended to his father as being an excellent swordsman. However, after almost a year with him, Vittorio wondered if perhaps his skills were over embellished. Vittorio wanted to be the best, but to accomplish that, he had to be trained by the best. The fourteen year old had heard outrageous rumors from a friend that had spent the summer in Venezia about a man in white; that fought like a devil and which no mortal man could defeat. If this person truly existed anywhere in Italia, then he'd have actually begged his father to acquire him as his instructor.

However, the rumor appeared to be just that, and even Carlo had told him he wasn't real. At the time, Vittorio had no choice but to accept it, since all he had to prove he was a living, breathing man was an old, faded wanted poster his friend had given him. Even then, the poster hadn't even come from Venezia, but from Firenze. He'd also heard stories of the man that were cropping up in San Gimignano and Forlì. So, he started to doubt this man even existed, since no mere man could have done half the things they said he did. Although, he had gained something out of it, since Vittorio wanted to become the real-life version of the swordsman from the stories. He wanted to have his name to become known through-out all of Italia.

Of course, for that to happen, he first had to defeat Carlo.

~o~

Vittorio stretched in the late morning sunlight as he yawned and combed a hand through his disheveled hair in an attempt to straighten it. He usually got up around this hour everyday, and as was routine, he went about cleaning himself up and getting dressed for the day. Most days he spent it in the shade of the garden or inside, and then trained with Carlo in the late afternoon when the sun had passed its highest point in the sky. By that time the summer heat would have tapered off. When his training was over, he would eat an early supper and when the sun went down, he'd lay on the roof while gazing at the moon and stars, and enjoy the cooler air. It was a privileged life he led, and with his father's fortune, it would never change.

The youth winced as the door of his bedroom slammed opened and turned with an exasperated sigh. "You forgot to knock again," he chastised. The woman at the door had loose curly brown hair that reached her shoulders, and she was wearing a bright purple dress but with no Kirtle or even a Chemise underneath, since with the heat it probably would have been unbearable. The dress itself was cut low and on the streets she would have been confused for a courtesan; a prostitute. However, in this household, they all knew how she was and dismissed it as a normal thing from her; Cicilia Vitelli.

"Mi dispiace, Iso," he said, and his fingers tightened where they were tucking his shirt into the waistband of his breeches. He inhaled deeply to calm himself and bent slightly to tuck in the knee length trousers into his boots. As he turned around, she smiled with a wretched look that was apt for a scolded six year old. It wasn't to say that she didn't pull off the doe-eyes like a pro, but Vittorio was all but immune.

"I could have been undressed," he insisted, since one day she _would_ walk in on him changing. At times, he thought that perhaps that would be better. "Please, remember to knock next time, madre." His mother pouted like a petulant child but he stubbornly turned away, since he refused to address her as he did when he'd been a child. Every day he insisted on calling her 'madre', since he was too old to use such a childish title. Although, sometimes he had a slip of the tongue when she looked especially miserable, so perhaps he wasn't as immune to her pitiful stare as he would have liked.

Vittorio sighed as he practically bounced into the room, and sometimes wondered how it was possible that out of the two of them, he's the one that seemed like the adult. "What did you need, madre?" Her lips twisted unhappily once again, but only stared at her pointedly.

"Well, I wanted to go to the market, and wondered if you wanted to come with me." She had been moving energetically around the room, but when she finished speaking she'd come to stop in front of him and started fussing with his shirt. "This is so ugly on you, Iso," she complained as he moved her fingers away, but she just moved them back. "I have this nice dress that would look wonderful on you." Her fingers pinched in distaste at the shirt. "Let me go get it, Isotta."

The youth grew frustrated and snapped at her. "Would you leave the shirt alone! It's fine without you wrinkling it further, and besides, you're not allowed to go outside!" Cicilia cringed away like a kicked puppy and he immediately regretted his harsh words, but he was so tired of it all. "Mi scusi, mama," he soothed, relieved when the affectionate term coaxed a smile out of her. She nodded and twirled around, entertaining herself by watching her dress fanning out around her.

Vittorio had a sister once upon a time, who was two years older than him, and Isotta had been the sweetest child one could ever meet. His mother adored her and always dressed her in the most beautiful dresses, and took care of her shoulder length hair that was as curly and brown as his mother's and his own hair. When she was seven years old, she had gone outside to play with a friend while their mother cared for a feverish five-year-old Vittorio. Both girl disappeared in broad daylight, and a search party had looked for them well into the night. They were found floating in the Tevere, and their tiny hands locked together when rigor mortis had set in. Someone had taken them, raped and strangled both girls before throwing their corpses into the dark waters of the river.

The boy's father had told his mother that they'd fallen into the Tevere and drowned, but the child would hear her anguished screams late at night. She knew the truth. The woman had fallen into a great depression and had became ill with a fever that had her delirious for days, shrieking for her daughter. _'Bring her to me! You bring her to me! ISOTTA!'_ After three grueling days as she came in and out of consciousness, her fever broke and she finally woke up.

Vittorio, worried for his mother and not understanding where his sister was, had crawled into bed with her and curled within her arms. He had drifted off to sleep there and when he woke, Cicilia had been petting his short, curly hair and humming a lullaby she had often sang to them. "Mama," he whimpered, cuddling closer to her warmth.

Cicilia gently shushed him. "It's okay. You're safe now, Isotta." Shortly after that incident, which had left Vittorio confused, his mother started to forbid the housemaids from cutting his hair, and moved him into his sister's room. When his father asked, she had stated that it was closer and Giorgio had dropped it and all the while was unaware of her deteriorating psyche. One day he caught her putting one of his sister's dresses on Vittorio and had flipped out, and the boy never mentioned that she'd been doing it for weeks already. Cicilia had become violent, injuring a housemaid that tried to whish the boy away and snatching up Vittorio and barricading herself in her room. Giorgio had talked her out of the room and instead of having her institutionalized he had allowed her to have her way. In part, it was because he'd already lost his daughter, and didn't want to lose his wife as well, but mostly for appearances. So, he secreted her away and allowed her mad idea that he was Isotta continue and to let her dress him accordingly.

So, for five years he was Isotta and for a long time he thought he was Isotta, and he forgot he was Vittorio. Then at the age of ten he escaped his mother's hawk-like eyes and went outside to play. He quickly learned that he was a boy and boys didn't wear dresses, and he'd been ridiculed and beaten by the other boys. Vittorio had torn the dress off as soon as he got home, and grabbed the scissors ―which he wasn't allowed to touch, but he didn't care― and hacked off his long, curly hair. His mother had been horrified, but he refused to be his mother's daughter any longer. He was not Isotta, but Vittorio.

Of course, it wasn't to say it was easy, since his mother fought him at every turn. Eventually, she had no choice but to accept his decision, but every once in a while she would slip a pretty dress into his wardrobe. She also never called him by his name, because to her he was still his sister no matter what he wore. Sometimes, he wondered if she'd completely forgotten she ever had a son, and if she only loved him because she thought he was Isotta.

"Why do you want to go to the market?" he inquired, trying to shake off his dark thoughts. The woman hadn't left the house in almost ten years, ―since his sister died― and had never wanted to leave. Thus, he wanted to know what was so special that she'd dare to venture outside.

"Don't you remember?" she murmured, moving away to play around with the curtains that were still half-way closed. "You'll be sixteen next month,, and your father always said he would find you a suitor for you when you turned sixteen." Vittorio's back stiffened, but she didn't notice how tense he'd gotten as she completely flung open the curtains so more sunlight flooded the room. "So, I want to go to the tailor and have a dress made. You'll be the most beautiful bride in all of Roma."

Vittorio's hands clenched at his sides in growing anger. There was only so much the fourteen-year-old boy could take, but talk of a suitor for him and him wearing a wedding dress was pushing the line. He turned toward her and observed her a moment as she continued to fiddle with the curtains. "Madre, stop," he ordered firmly. When she turned to fix him with her caramel eyes that were so alike to his, he steeled his resolve. "I'm not Isotta." She visibly flinched, but he pressed on. "I'm not your daughter, and never was." Her hands moved to cover her ears, and yet he only raised his voice. "I'm your son, Vittorio, remember?"

She was trembling now, and had backed into the drapes and wrapped them around her body to shield herself from his assault. "No! Stop it, Iso! Don't say such lies!"

Vittorio growled in anger and frustration. "That's not my name! I'm your son! Isotta is dead! She died a long time ago!" A housemaid came knocking at the door, mostly likely concerned about the shouting but he merely ignored her.

Cicilia started screaming now, wrapping the curtains more tightly around herself. "You're lying! A liar!" She became even more hysterical as he tried to get her out of the curtains, failing against him. "Don't touch me! I don't have a son! It's just Isotta! I want Isotta! Ho solo l'amore per Isotta!" Vittorio felt like he'd been slapped and let go of his mother's flailing body, already having managed to drag her out of her cocoon of curtains, and now she scrambled away from him. She huddled against the wall as she stared at him with wide eyes.

He didn't know what kind of expression he had, but as three of the housemaids ran in to calm her down, Giovanna that had been with them for years wrapped him in a hug. As they led her away, the older woman gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Do not fret, bambino," she murmured. "She did not mean what she said. Your mother is not well."

Vittorio scoffed and tried to feign indifference. "I do not care about what that matto donna says." He jerked away from her embrace, and stood as he dusted off his pants and straightened his tousled hair. "I'm leaving. This maledetto house makes me sick." Vittorio all but fled from his family home, and he didn't care where he was going.

~o~

The youth climbed down from the marble structure, letting his body fall the last three feet and groaned in annoyance as he landed in the water of the fountain at the base of it. He didn't know what this was called but he figured it was something important, and which he didn't really care. All he knew was that the splash of water had wet the legs of his damn trousers. After a moment more sulking about his wet breeches, he figured that now was a good time to go home, since it was dusk and didn't want to have to walk home in the dark. Besides, he was hungry and hadn't remembered to bring any fiorini with him before storming out of the house, and without remembering that he hadn't eaten breakfast. So, he'd have to swallow his pride and go back. Perhaps he might even get away from having to face his father for upsetting how things were and giving the neighbors something to talk about.

As he turned in the direction of home, he heard a commotion at one of the stalls. He approached curiously but couldn't see since a small crowd had gathered around the stand where he could hear raised voices. It seemed to be an altercation between the guards and the owner of a stand, and from what he could hear, he was refusing to pay a new tax that was ridiculously high. Vittorio's family was wealthy, so he didn't understand the helplessness these people felt at being unable to pay. His clothing spoke of a fine upbringing, and his cocky and arrogant attitude was normal for him, since it was how his father had raised him in absence of his mother.

Vittorio tried to see what kind of shop it was, but he heard a crash followed by a shout and one of the guards was violently shoved back and into his comrades. The crowd panicked as they all drew their weapons and scattered as people were shoved and some knocked to the ground. The youth was forced to take refuge crammed between a cart of a hay and the unyielding wall. In between the rushing bodies, he saw snatches of what was happening like the reel of a movie. The man's stand had been over turned and the flowers were scattered on the ground. He was defending against four guards that circled him like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Vittorio wondered why he didn't just flee, and then he shifted and caught sight of what he was protecting. A woman was huddled against a corner with strands of a light brown and a blond haired girl was clinching to her body, arms wrapped around her waist. Vittorio understood then, that it he were to run away, then his family would surely die.

The adolescent could do nothing more but watch for several heart-pounding moments as they attacked and the man defended, but unable to counter for fear of leaving his family unprotected. Suddenly, everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Vittorio watched in sickening realization. One guards locked the stand owners' sword with his own, and two others lunged at his vulnerable family. The woman screamed and turned her back toward them in an effort to protect her daughter, and the girl watched it all with wide, terrified blue eyes.

Her gaze shifted in that instant and blue met his caramel colored eyes, and time seemed to stand still. Then it was over as the man ―a husband and a father― kicked the guards and disengaging their swords in the process, and then he threw himself between the guards and his loved ones. His weapon plunged into one opponent's chest, but both of theirs hit true.

 _"PAPA!"_ Vittorio was shaken to the core by the girl's scream, but the man seemed to take strength from it as he ripped his sword out of one and stabbed the other in the stomach. The stand owner staggered back but kept on his feet by sheer force of will. He shouted something at the woman; blood spilling past his lips and down his chin, and she looked grief-stricken for a moment before her eyes darted down to the girl in her arms.

There were still two guards left, but now he could hold them off as the woman grabbed the younger female's hand and ran. The girl was shouting in protest as she tried to pull away and get back to her father's side, but she couldn't get away from her mother's iron grip. As they disappeared from view, Vittorio turned back to the man as his remaining opponents took turns attacking, and he could barely defend due to his fatal injuries. They jeered and pretended that they were going to attack, only for the other to engage him instead. The boy was expecting what happened next as one of his attackers ran him through with his longsword and the stand owner dropped his as it clattered to the cobblestone ground. Vittorio could only stare in horror, since he had never seen someone get killed. As he watched, the guards kicked the man when he crumpled, and then proceeded to trash his flower stand. When they left ―taking their dead with them― did Vittorio finally leave his hiding place and approached the downed man.

He fumbled for his hand as he caught sight of Vittorio, large hands dwarfing his. "...famiglia," he coughed, more blood spilling from his mouth. Vittorio glanced the way they'd fled, afraid they'd come back and see him, but there was no sign of them.

"They're gone," he reassured. "They got away." He certainly hoped they were safe, since he didn't want to lie to a dying man.

"He's an evil man," he choked. "How could they not see this?" His hand tightened painfully around his smaller one. "They'll come for you too. Especially you." His hold slackened as his eyelids fluttered closed. "They'll take everything from you; everything."

Vittorio breathed in deeply as he tried not to hyperventilate, and released the dead man's hand as if it scalded him. He stood in the now deserted piazza, glancing around as he wondered what to do. In the end, he was forced to flee as he spotted a patrol round the corner, and he ran as hard as his short legs would allow. He was out of breath when he turned onto the street his house was located on, and only then dared to slow to a walk. However, as he got there, he noticed that something was off. The door was wide open and there was no light coming through the windows. It was as still as death and his breath hitched in terror.

The youth couldn't see as he entered the dark house, swallowing past a knot of emotion as he tried to call out. "Giovanna," he tried to say, since the woman was always attentive of the door and the running of the place ever since his mother had been indisposed. There was no answer from the kind, old housemaid that had comforted him a scant few hours ago. "Mama?" His shaking voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. He flashed back to the dead man and his destroyed flower stand as the wind caught up the torn, blood-stained pink petals and carried them off in its embrace. Vittorio moved more quickly inside the house until he was running toward his mother's room.

He saw that the door was open, one of them off its hinges to indicate it'd been kicked open. Vittorio's mind went to the worst place imaginable as tears gathered in his eyes. He walked inside and looked around the room to see that it'd been torn apart as if they'd been looking for something. The small jewelry chest his mother always kept on her dressing table was gone, and noticed that anything of value had been taken. However, this was the farthest thing from his mind as he spotted a body crumpled on the far side of the room. She was lying in a patch of moonlight so her long brown, curly hair was fanned out around her, and he might had thought she had fallen asleep on the floor if not for the gash on her forehead that was dribbling blood into a small puddle by her head. Vittorio was shaking so badly and his knees were buckling so much that he was surprised he was still standing. He did crumple to the floor when he was close enough to see that she was still breathing.

"Mama," he said, shaking her gently to try and rouse her. She groaned softly and he scrambled around trying to look for a piece of cloth to press against the gash on her head. Her eyes fluttered open but they were unfocused so he wasn't sure she could see him too well, and he was also wasn't sure how she'd react after their altercation this morning. So, without saying a word, he helped her up as she leaned heavily against him, but she was much too light to give him any trouble. As he was settling her in the bed, he heard a noise in the hallway as someone stumbled over some of the overturned furniture. Vittorio felt fear well up inside him and glanced helplessly at his mother's semi-conscious body. He clenched his hands into fists and went to the fireplace where he took up the iron poker. It was heavier than the rapier he used, but it was all he had access to at the moment in order to defend them.

He felt relief when Carlo walked into the room and released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Vittorio was so relieved that at first he didn't notice his tousled hair and rumpled clothes to indicate he had been in a fight, and the blood on his sword. Then his mother sucked in a sharp breath that turned into a whimper. He glanced at Cicilia and saw her fearful eyes fixed solely on Carlo, and as he turned to him a gleeful grin spread over the older man's face.

The youth had half a second to realize he was responsible for this before the larger male was upon him. Vittorio brought up the poker but failed to realize he needed more strength to lift it, and Carlo easily got through his defenses to make a deep cut on his upper arm. The only good thing about it was that it wasn't his dominant arm, and when he lifted the make-shift weapon again he compensated for the extra weight as he blocked and countered with some difficulty.

The furious exchange of blows was not a silent matter either, as Carlo taunted him. "Adiamo!" he yelled, mimicking the boy from their match yesterday afternoon. His sword by-passed his defenses once more and Vittorio winced as it ripped into his side. "Not getting tired, are you?" he sneered.

Meanwhile, Vittorio was doing everything in his power to keep him back, and caught one of two glances at his mother cowering on the bed. "Why are you doing this, Carlo?" he demanded, grunting as he received another minor cut. All the injuries wouldn't be enough to seriously wound him, but he was starting to feel a bit light-headed. Vittorio could tell that Carlo was only toying with him, and could have ended it a long time ago.

Carlo laughed, the cruel sound making Vittorio shiver. "Don't you know that your father's been accused of conspiring against the church?" The words shocked Vittorio enough to allow Carlo to do more damage as he cried out in pain. This cut was deeper than the rest and Vittorio bent slightly to clutch at his thigh. Carlo stood back with an amused smile as he splayed his hand out, indicating that he attend to his injury. Vittorio growled in anger at the insult, but still tore off his right sleeve to wrap around the gash.

"We came for him, but he wasn't here so we decided to have a little fun." His grin was all teeth and vicious. "You probably shouldn't go into the servant's quarters." His ebony eyes turned toward the frightened woman on the bed. "And your mother wouldn't let us in, so we had to break down the door. Of course, she doesn't even know you're her son instead of her dead daughter, so I didn't think she'd know where your father would be." His gaze slipped back to Vittorio as he twirled his sword with expert ease, and the youth knew he was ready to start again as he shifted into a defensive stance. "If she hadn't tried to attack me when we started taking everything of value, I might have left her alone." That sickening smile was back again. "But she screams so beautifully."

The young man was filled with rage at the thought of this bastard hurting his mother. "Figliolo d'un puttana!" he screamed as he attacked with abandon. It was what the man expected as he easily disarmed him, and then slashed at his face. Vittorio screamed as the tip of his sword tore from the right side of his jaw, across his mouth and stopped just under his left eye. He staggered back with his hand to his face and crumpled against the back wall. Carlo loomed over him as he moved the sword from side to side. "We knew your father wouldn't come back once he thought this place had been compromised, but I had to come back." He lifted the sword to press the tip to his throat before using the flat end to tilt his head back to force the youth to meet his black eyes. "I came back just for _you_ , Vittorio."

As the fourteen year old watched, Carlo pulled back his sword to deliver the killing blow, but then grunted in pain before he collapsed unconscious on the floor next to him. Vittorio lifted his head, his bloody hands still pressing firmly against his gaping wound so could only see with his right eye. Cicilia stood there with a silver candlestick that had been missed, and which had been used to knock out his former instructor. "Mama?" he gasped, pain making his voice waver.

The woman didn't say anything as she dropped the candlestick and rushed to his side. She carefully pried his fingers away from the injury and made a distressed noise at seeing the damage. "Don't move," she whispered; rushing out of the room as he slumped against the wall. As he lay on the floor he wondered where his father might be, and he realized that he hadn't seen him in almost three days. _'Did he know this would happen?'_ he suddenly wondered, as he remembered the words that Carlo had spoken. He stubbornly dismissed the idea, since he was sure his father would never have let them remain there if he had known.

His mother was wrapping his head to staunch the flow of blood, and had to wrap the bandages around his head to secure it enough to stop the bleeding. Both their heads snapped toward the door as they heard someone moving around in the hallway. Vittorio fumbled at once for the fireplace poker and Cicilia went for the candlestick. If he hadn't been on the floor and unable to get up due to one eye being covered and throwing off his depth perception, then he'd have gotten to his feet to protect his mother. Instead, it was Cicilia that stood in front of him protectively with her make-shift weapon at the ready.

Both breathed simultaneous sighs of relief when they recognized Vittorio's father, his pale face illuminated by the lantern he was holding in his hand. "Giorgio," his mother gasped, dropping the weapon and moving toward him immediately. It had been a while since Cicilia had shown the man such affection, so he concentrated on her and it took several minutes for him to see an injured Vittorio.

"What happened?" he inquired, glancing uncertainly at an unconscious Carlo. He took his son's face within his hand, and while he wasn't rough, he wasn't gentle either as Vittorio grimaced. Almost half of the young man's face was covered in bandages, and while the wound wasn't life-threatening, it would leave behind a nasty scar. Vittorio had never been self-conscious about his looks since he knew he was attractive, but now wondered what he'd have to endure when the wound was healed enough for the bandages to come off.

"It was Carlo," he explained, watching as Giorgio moved over to his mother's bed. "He said they came to look for you." The man slid a dagger from the sheath attached at his waist. He plunged it into the feather mattress and cut a horizontal line through it. "That you were being accused of conspiring against the church. Is," he paused in trepidation to look at him carefully, "is that true?"

Giorgio paused and glanced at him. "Of course it's not true," he growled angrily. He reached into the mattress, and withdrew a small box from inside and moved to the dressing table. When he opened it, Vittorio saw that there was a lot of fiorini inside as well as some valuable items.

Vittorio managed to recover his feet and saw what he had taken out of the bed, and wondered how long that had been there. "But you knew this was going to happen," he hissed. When he didn't deny it he surged forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "That mostro tortured my mother!" he spat angrily, wanting to inflict pain on his own father for allowing that to happen to her.

Giorgio forcefully removed his hands before back-handing him across his injured face as Vittorio cried out in pain. "Don't speak to me in such a disrespectable manner, piccolo bastardo!" He turned to look at his son's former instructor and kicked the unresponsive body in the side. "As for this figliolo d'un puttana, well, he was mostly likely sent by the same people." He turned to his son who had crumbled to his knees as he cradled his wounded face in his hands. "About five days ago they came for the Abete family in the middle of the night." Giorgio ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. "I knew Alfonso Abete. He was a good man, and yet they took everything he owned and then beat him to death. Now it seems his thirteen-year-old daughter has disappeared. I knew they'd come for me next, since the two of us were the most opposed against Rodrigo Borgia from becoming the next pope."

Vittorio looked up and followed his father's pacing. "Are you saying the pope did this?" he asked incredulously. The accusation that Carlo had made seemed to become more true with everything that passed Giorgio's mouth.

The words and his blatant disbelief on his face and voice infuriated the older man as he curled fingers in his hair, and made him look into his wild blue eyes, the same ones' that Isotta had inherited. "Are you suggesting that I'm lying?" he snarled, pulling his head back by the hair until the action coaxed a pained whimper out of Vittorio. He felt humiliation at being treated like a child by the man, when he wasn't anything of the sort!

"Let him go." The tone the words were spoken in was dangerously cold and caused a feeling of fear to curl in his gut. Vittorio's eyes darted to his mother as she stood in the doorway and in her hands was the small box with what was left of the Vitelli fortune. "I swear I'll throw this into the Tevere otherwise."

Giorgio immediately released him as Vittorio fell back. "Give that back," he said, using the voice he always had when trying to calm her from one of her psychotic episodes. Only this time, she merely narrowed her eyes in anger before turning and rushing out of the room with the box. The man didn't spare his son a single glance before running after her. Meanwhile, Vittorio staggered to his feet and hurried after them. It was difficult to manage in the dark house with only one eye, but eventually caught up. Although, he was distressed to see Cicilia on top of the wall that surrounded the roof patio as Giorgio tried to talk her down. "Just come down and give me the box. We have to get out of here before they find us."

Cicilia jerked away from his hands and almost lost her balance as Vittorio's breath caught in his throat. "No! The only thing you care about is your money," she accused as she dangled the box over the edge. A good strong throw would cause the box to go into the Tevere, but if she were to fall, then she'd plummet to her death to the courtyard below. "You hid me away because of appearances, and didn't care what happened to me or Isotta!"

Vittorio swallowed a knot of grief that once again his mother thought he was his sister; that she only loved Isotta. Even so, he didn't want any harm to come to her because in the end, she was still his mother. Isotta was gone, but he still remained. "Mama!" he called, moving forward despite his father motioning for him to get back. "I'm right here! It's me," he paused as he closed his eyes, "Isotta." He didn't see her guilty expression as he called himself by his dead sister's name.

Giorgio seized the opportunity as he grabbed the youth and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Iso is right, Cicilia. Don't leave your injured daughter down here by herself," he called loudly to her, but to Vittorio he hissed quietly so she wouldn't hear him. "Tell her you'll let your hair grow and wear pretty dresses if she comes down from there." Vittorio glanced helplessly at his father but the man merely glared at him and his fingers tightened where they held him as the adolescent winced.

"Giorgio," Cicilia called, and their attention snapped toward her. She held her arms open wide and smiled calmly. "I'll come down, so please help me." Giorgio immediately released Vittorio and moved toward the woman on the ledge. When he was close enough he reached out and she merely bent slightly to wrap her arms around him. The man didn't pay attention to what she was saying next as his eyes remained glued to the box still in her hand. "I was mad with grief that I didn't know what I was doing, and I confused him for Isotta. Then you allowed me to think Vittorio was my _dead daughter_." Giorgio stiffened as he caught her last statement but she merely pulled him closer. "But I will _never_ let you hurt my son again!" she snarled. Her eyes found Vittorio's, which were so alike to hers, and she wondered how she could have ever confused him for his sister. "I love you, Vittorio." Then she yanked Giorgio forward as he gasped, and both disappeared over the edge.

Vittorio was frozen where he stood, staring wide eyed in disbelief at where his parents had been moments before. _"NO!"_ he screamed, falling to his hands and knees in his grief as tears soaked his face and bandages. "Per favore, mio dio, no," he wept as he pressed his face against the hard, filthy ground. He forced himself to move even as he was openly sobbing, crawling toward the wall and lifted up to look over the edge because he had to know for sure. Once he did, he wished he'd just stayed there on the ground.

His mother was spread on her back and her long, curly brown hair was fanned out around her, and her arms splayed as if ready to take flight. Giorgio had landed on his side and his body and arms were curled toward her as if he'd tried to reach for her in his last moments. There was so much blood that Vittorio knew without a doubt that they were both dead.

Vittorio was huddled against the wall as he hugged his folded legs to his chest when he heard footsteps, but didn't even lift his head from where he'd buried his face against his drawn up knees. Only when the person had stopped beside him did he lift his head. His heartbeat accelerated when he saw Carlo standing there, leaning casually against the short wall with his feet crossed at the ankle and his arms folded at his chest. He turned to look over the side, and the youth was able to see the dried blood at his temple where Cicilia had hit him with the candlestick. "She certainly made my job easier for me," he said as if they were having a normal conversation. "I'd have preferred to have some revenge for that hit, but I guess I'll have to take it out on you." His hand settled on the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw his weapon Vittorio struck as quick as a snake. He used the dagger he had stolen from his father when he'd wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and stabbed Carlo through the leg.

The older man shrieked in pain as his leg gave way under him and he fell down. "I'm going to kill you, bastardo!" he screamed. Vittorio scrambled to his feet as he ran around him and hurried toward the door. He cried out in agony as he felt something sharp slam into his back, between his shoulder blades as it barely missed his spinal cord. Even with the throwing knife sticking out of his back, he continued on because he knew Carlo would do as he said if he stayed there.

His eye-sight started to darken around the edges when he was several dozen streets away, and he had no idea where he was or how far he'd gone. Vittorio forced himself to keep going even as his leg and calf muscles burned with the strain and it felt like he was carrying rocks on his back the further he went. Finally, he tripped on his feet as his body started to shut down from blood loss and he collapsed right there. The world reeled around him as his consciousness was ripped away, and before he surrendered to sweet oblivion he realized with a jolt that he was now an orphan. Then everything faded away.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andiamo - interj. come on, come already, let's go.  
> Italia - Italy  
> Ho solo l'amore per Isotta - I have only love for Isotta  
> Bambino - child (masc.)  
> Matto - adj. mad, crazy, insane, loony, lunatic, nutty, nuts, moonstricken, moony, screwy, dull, loopy  
> Maledetto - adj. cursed, damned, accursed, confounded, blasted, bloody  
> Mostro - monster  
> mio dio - my god


	13. Man of the People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me great difficulty, and this was mostly the fault of my three muses. One muse went in one direction, the other went toward another direction, and the last one went with this particular chapter. I won't say which went with what chapter, but it was a really pain in my...well, it was difficult. Also, this is the longest chapter ever. I suspect the next few chapters will be just as long.
> 
> [ **Edited:** _February 12, 2013_ ]

**Chapter Thirteen:** _Man of the People_

_Roma, 1501_

The sun slowly drifted into the sky as the light spilled over the cliffs and then flowed over rooftops, and finally reached the streets of Roma. As it bathed an open space at the far West, a heaving figure was revealed with the sword at their belt. The light brought the curly, almost frizzy hair into a lighter shade of brown. If anyone were watching they would witness the young woman dash forward and jump onto the fence, pausing enough to balance, before running along it as she skipped over the post as if they were stones within her path. When she arrived at the last post, the girl jumped onto it, crouching to easily do a 180 degree turn, and running along the fence back to where she'd started. She did this many times in until her heart was racing and her pulse was beating loudly within her ears. During the last run she flipped off the last post and landed on a nearby haystack. The impact wasn't hard enough to sink all the way inside, so her splayed body was still visible as she lay there trying to catch her breath.

It was still early, not even noon yet, and yet her stomach seemed to growl. Desideria groaned and got to her feet, stretching to get the kinks out, and then jogged back in between the buildings close by so she could go to the nearby market. She fished several fiorini to pay for half a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and an apple. She had water, so there was no need to buy anything to drink, and moved away from the main road. Since she couldn't climb the ladder with her hands full, she wrapped her food within cloth which she then attached to her belt. Then she went up to the roof where Desideria sat down to enjoy your breakfast, and she wondered how long it would take her brother, Alessio, to find her this time. She left before the sun came up with the intention of never returning, but he always found her. One day, she'd just leave Roma altogether.

Desideria lounged on the roof of the canopy that was located over a building of some kind with the chatter of the market below her. She'd soon start her morning training on the rooftops so she could start getting used to being up there. She had started small, but felt she could go a step further. Of course, she wasn't a fool and thus would start on one or two story buildings, and gradually work toward higher buildings. By the time her self-imposed training was over, she'd likely be able to do as she had seen the hooded man do; attacking from the rooftop. Perhaps she'd even find him, whom she heard so much about these days; the Assassin.

"Desideria!" she heard someone shout below. She glanced down at the street level and saw her younger brother as he started up at her with a wide grin on his ten-year-old face. He always thought it a big accomplishment when he found her quickly, and never mind that it was their father that always sent him out to drag her home. She hated her home life since her father had been trying to engage her to his friends' son, and she wanted no part in any kind of marriage. Ever since Desideria could remember, she had wanted to be free and have adventures, and her father was trying to crush that; crush her spirit.

She kept such things hidden from her dear brother so happily went when their father sent him to fetch his wayward sister, and took it as a challenge on how fast he could find her. Judging by the position of the sun, it wasn't noon yet so she would guess it was two hours. He was getting really good at finding her, but then again, she never left the Antico District. However, she also didn't frequent the normal haunts a girl her age went to, so it wasn't easy either. Perhaps tomorrow she'd venture to the nearby district and see how long it'd take him to find her.

The seventeen year old straightened up as she stretched, and as she did, Desideria spotted a cart of hay close-by, and an idea formed. As she turned to head toward the ladder, she pretended to lose her balance and fell. After making sure to aim her body right, she allowed her arms and legs to loosen as she watched the heavens above. The sun was moving toward the west, so she wasn't blinded by it, but the sky was so blue and never ending, and the clouds the purest of white.

Then the wind was knocked out of her as she hit the hay and everything else disappeared from sight as she was submerged within the scratchy straw. As she burrowed out, she felt little hands helping her, and when she emerged at last, it was to her brother's grinning face. "That was amazing, Desi!" he exclaimed as he bounced in place. "Teach me!"

Desideria felt nausea coil in her stomach at the thought of the ten-year-old trying such a stunt, and knew she shouldn't have done such a thing while he was present since he tended to copy almost everything she did. Also, her brother was so easily influenced, and she always tried to keep him away from those that would steer him toward the wrong path; of which there were a lot these days. Ultimately, he was the reason she was still here, or she'd have left a long time ago. "Don't you dare try this," she warned him firmly with a stern face to show she meant business. She usually let her brother get away with everything, but this was one thing she had to make sure he _never_ tried. Desideria would be devastated if she hurt himself pulling a stupid stunt that he had seen her do.

The young boy groaned as he stuck his lip out in a petulant pout, but when she leveled him a glare he sighed in defeat. "Alright, I promise I won't," he finally conceded as he turned away from her.

The older sibling smiled fondly and playfully ruffled his hair as he complained –or rather, yowled like a cat– and tried to bat her hands way. She tossed the apple at him, since she knew her father never let him eat until he came back with her. Desideria watched in amusement as he scrambled to try and keep it from hitting the ground. "I'll race you home," she exclaimed as she darted off while he was still fumbling with the fruit. She could hear Alessio shouting about her cheating but she only continued to run, but always made sure never to lose him. The wind on her face made her grin stretch wide across her face, and behind her she could hear her brother's laughter chasing her until they reached their house.

~o~

As she snuck out early several days later and made sure not to make noise, but as she was passing by her brother's room, something made her pause at the door. It was still dark outside and the house was silent and still as death, and a shudder raced up her spine. She snuck inside and paused at the foot of his bed and watched him sleep for several minutes, trying to memorize his peaceful face. Desideria finally shook herself out of her stupor and quietly laughed at her foolishness before sneaking out before her father woke up.

She had dropped hints yesterday about wandering over the Ponte Fabricio, which connected the eastern part of the Centro District to Isola Tiberina. She'd been warned by her father not to venture to Tiber Island, since the presence of the guards was completely non-existent ever since a year ago. The thing her father didn't understand was that eleven months ago, a man in white robes and a hood had killed Il Carnifice, and change had come to Roma. So, if the island was free of the corrupt guards, then she wondered what kept the people from falling into complete disorder. So, she had decided to sate her curiosity that day, and if her brother had gotten her hints, he would have to look for her there.

Desideria had been daring to get on the rooftops, and tried jumping from roof to roof on a few buildings that were close together. She had to gather her courage before she had made that first leap, but after the first exhilarating time, she'd become addicted. The young woman would dare to jump a gap a little wider each time. Once, she had overestimated herself and didn't make it, just barely catching the edge of the roof and dangling more than ten feet off the ground. She truly believed she'd plummet to her death, but with sheer force of will, had made herself override her fear and pull herself up and scramble onto the rooftop.

While it was enough to make someone slow down, she had refused to let a little near-death experience hold her back. So, the next day she had tried from the same rooftops, and had just managed to land onto the other side, rolling forward before coming to a stop on her back. She'd stayed there, panting as the adrenaline wore off before she hooted and hollered over her accomplishment. Now today she wanted to do something more, and thus be one stop closer to her goal. It was a simple goal, fight against the Borgia and the corrupt guards to better the lives of the people of Roma. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but simplistic in nature, definitely.

She paused as she was within sight of the bridge, and spied a length of rope that looked wide enough to cross over. Any sensible person would climb down and use the bridge, but Desideria had never been accused of being any sense or definition of the word. So, she made a b-line toward the rope, pausing at the edge of the roof as goose bumps raised the skin of her arms. The flowing waters of the Tevere ran in a steady flow, and she knew that if she fell then there was a good chance the murky waters would swallow her whole. Although, this particular knowledge didn't remove the glint of determination from her dark brown eyes, and decided to still try it.

The next minute after trying to run across it only to slip and tumble off, the frantic beat of her heart the only thing she could hear as she dangled from the rope after having caught herself at the last second, made her think things through a bit more. She was able to swing herself back and forth until she could catch hold of the rope with her leg, where the knee bent. If anyone had seen her, she'd have been a bit embarrassed but for now just concentrated on struggling up onto the rope. A relieved sigh escaped her mouth when she managed to right herself on the rope and carefully and slowly made her way across until she reached the adjacent rooftop and just barely kept from crumpling to her knees. Desi wasn't sure whether it was from relief or coming down from the adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins after almost falling into the Tevere.

Being unable to swim was part of the reason, but even if she _could_ , the current that day was too fast and would overtake someone that could swim. Also, knowing she couldn't swim, Desideria had still dared to traipse across the rope. Well, she would also do it again in a heartbeat. Although, going into the water was a fear she would sooner or later have to conquer. It was one of the reasons she couldn't swim, since she was afraid of large bodies of water. From what she could remember, it stemmed from having fallen in a pond when she had been a child while visiting family in the country. Her father had jumped in with boots and all to pull her out, and then proceeded to pound on her back to get all the water out of her lungs. She'd had large, hand print sized bruises for almost a month, and a newfound fear of water.

While she would have loved to teach her younger brother how to swim, her fear of water had destroyed those dreams. "Maybe, one day," she swore, glancing over her shoulder from where she stood hunched over as she tried not to heave. After another moment spent composing herself, and where she was sure she wouldn't hurl, did she straighten and moved away from the edge of the roof. She jumped onto the nearest rooftop and moved along steadily until she came to a small piazza. Desideria sat on the ledge of the current roof she was on as she observed the people down below. There was a Banco, and a Fabbro not too far away, and from what she could see, there were no patrols or any sign of a guard. In fact, she could tell that while the people on the streets wore humble attire, they didn't look oppressed or were devastatingly poor.

The shop seemed to be doing very well, and no soldiers had come to take their profits, or shut it down so the Borgia could seize control. She stood up and moved to the edge where she jumped over to the next rooftop with ease since most of these buildings were close together. Desi came upon a Sarto and a Marcante de D'arte next, and this surprised her since this section of Roma must be doing well for them to have an Art Merchant. When Rodrigo Borgia had assumed the papacy, they were the first to close down as the famous and expensive paintings were stolen -or rather, confiscated- and then followed the Fabbro shops, the Dottore, and Sarto. Finally, with no revenue coming in, the banks soon followed.

So, to see all these places open and doing well filled her with hope that soon Centro District would follow. After all, the same change had already started as someone had started to reopen the shops, and it had started to happen when that diabolical tower had been burned almost two months ago. It was a shame that the fire hadn't reduced it to a pile of smoldering embers. In fact, someone had restored it, but a different symbol now adorned the high tower, but past fear kept the people away from the door. Desideria herself hadn't dared to approach either, but her building curiosity would soon be unable to be contained. She only hoped she didn't regret it later.

Desideria paused as her stomach growled in hunger and glanced at the sky. It was almost two hours past noon, and she had yet to see her brother. While it could be argued that it would obviously take him longer to find her on Tiber Island, this didn't lessen her concern. After all, if he hadn't found her, then it meant that he also hadn't eaten at all today.

The young woman jumped onto a lower rooftop and did this until she could make it to the ground without injuring herself. Once there, she went to the stands near-by and bought a loaf of bread, cheese, and an apple. She shook her water canteen, and was satisfied with the level and left to head toward the Ponte Fabricio.

She was within sight of the bridge when she heard a commotion and spied a huddled group of guards on the other side. Desideria frowned as she heard shouting, and felt a sudden chill creep up her spine as she tried to figure out what was happening. She stepped back to leave and save herself the hassle of trying to get past by them, but before she could move she saw a small figure being pushed between them. Desideria figured it was one of the street urchins that sometimes stole from the stands before running off, but she could make out nothing more out than the fact that it was a boy. When he finally broke free of the harassing guards and ran, Desideria felt her blood run cold when she saw that it was Alessio.

There was no time to contemplate the reason he was being chased and rushed down along her side of the river. Her heart was in her throat when she managed to scramble on top of a building to get a better view. Desi could swear her heart stopped before it jumpstarted into a frenzy at seeing Alessio cornered at the dock. She raced across the rooftop, snagging a coil of rope on her way, and quickly jumped to the next roof. Normally, she wouldn't have made the distance, but the adrenaline was fueling her movements. Desideria's head whipped around as she heard a shout, and gave a distressed cry when Alessio accidentally toppled into the water as he was trying to avoid the guards' grasping hands.

His small body was immediately caught by the current and carried downstream, but she was ahead several feet. She ran harder until finally seeing her objective, which was the rope she had been on earlier that stretched across the Tevere. She made it across with little problem despite her mad rush, and quickly tied the rope in her hands around her waist and then the other around the one under her feet. Her fear of water was still there since her hands were shaking even then, but grudgingly pushed it down. Desideria refused to let it be the cause of her losing Alessio.

Desideria took a shaky breath and jumped, and she experienced a moment of pure unadulterated terror as she fell, and then was caught by the rope as she was jerked to a stop. She cried at the strain to her body, but tried to ignore it as she saw her brother's flailing body. His head was just barely about the water but his arms would just be within reach when he passed, provided the current didn't pull him away from this path. As soon as the thought entered her head, she heard a shout from across the water and saw that the soldiers had been following the boy's progress. They were yelling and gesturing in her direction, but ignored them and stretched out to her brother as she passed under her. She cried out triumphantly as she caught hold of his wrist, and pulled his barely breathing body out of the raging river.

His eyes snapped open as he violently coughed out the water he'd accidentally swallowed, and Desideria started to pull him up with some difficulty. "Grab my other hand," she shouted as she tried to lift him with one arm to grasp his other hand. He was still dazed but seemed to realize that he needed to listen, and especially since most of his body was still in the water.

Desideria flinched when something hit the water beside her brother, and lifted her gaze to the shore. The soldiers were throwing rocks at them both, and an archer was poised at the end of the dock and was aiming toward them. She abruptly stopped trying to lift him before he could grab her hand and Desi fumbled to get her dagger where it was sheathed at her waist. It was just in time as the first arrow came right at her, and she knocked it out of the air with a desperate swing. When he shot the next one at her brother, she managed to swing him out of the way in time, but it was difficult with the river constantly trying to yank him out of her hold. It's when Desideria had a sickening feeling form in her stomach, and knew that she would either lose her grip on Alessio and the river would claim him, or one or both would be hit by those arrows.

The young woman was frantically trying to think of something to do as she deflected an arrow aimed right at her heart. Her head lifted to see where the next one would come from, and a gasp left her mouth when she saw a second archer moments before they fired simultaneously at brother and sister. She tried to deflect and swing her brother at the same time, and was horrified as she missed both. Desideria bit back a sob when the projectile slammed into her shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain down the arm and the hand that was holding Alessio. The other arrow impaled her younger sibling through the back as Alessio threw his head back to scream. The wound weakened her hold, and as their eyes met over the distance for a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity, her fingers gave way and he disappeared under the raging current of the Tevere.

 ** _"Alessio!"_** she screamed, trying to desperately cut the rope holding her in place so she could fling herself after him. Another arrow flew by her head, nicking the side of her tear-stained face and interrupting her grief. Her blood-shot eyes found the two archers still at the end of the dock, preparing to fire once again, and something inside her snapped.

Desideria's hand -the one that had been holding her brother moments before- snapped toward her waist and the throwing knives she had secured there. The young woman flung it through the air with deadly precision, impaling one of the archers through the eye. The other soldiers were stunned that the girl had killed the man from such a distance with a throwing knife, and thus didn't see her climb up the rope, cut it with a flick of her sword, and sprint toward their side of the river with very little difficulty. She was forced to dodge projectiles from the guards once they got their bearings back, and some moved up onto the roof to meet her when they realized she would make it across.

Desideria jumped up and brought down her sword using gravity to strengthen the blow. The soldier fell back from the force of it and she was upon him in an instant to slit his throat with the dagger she'd unsheathed from her waist. The hot blood hitting her face didn't make her flinch, and the crunch of dirt and debris underneath boots alerted her of an approaching enemy, thus giving her enough time to roll away from an attack. As Desideria regained her feet she used her blood-coated dagger to block a second attack before she jumped back as two more joined them on the roof. She frowned when she saw she was outnumbered three to one, but a glance over her shoulder revealed a cart of hay, and as two lunged at her from both sides, she allowed herself to fall backwards.

As soon as she landed Desideria scrambled out, surprising a distracted enemy as she drove her sword through his gut. He made a sound between a sob and a whimper when she ripped it out, and turned to fling two throwing knives that killed a soldier making his way down the latter, and a second one on the edge of the roof. That brought the count down to four, and it became three when she used her last two throwing knives, one which was dodged and the other embedded into the soldiers' throat when he straightened after dodging the first projectile. Her blood pumping in righteous anger kept her going even despite the pain of her wound, and the arrow that was still lodged within her shoulder.

As the remaining soldiers climbed down to confront her, she pushed the broken arrow all the way through with a gasp of pain so it came out of the other side. She pulled it out and flung it at her first opponent, but it didn't have the speed or strength necessary and it was easily deflected. However, the guard didn't expect her to be right behind the arrow as she drove her sword up under his ribs to surely impale his heart. She twisted back and lifted her dagger to block an attack at her back, and hissed as she felt an arrow impale the small of her back.

Desideria shifted her feet closer together so she would be better balanced as she lifted her leg to kick the soldier impaled on her sword. She twisted around once more to swing at the one who had his sword locked with her dagger, but he stumbled away from the greater reach of the sword. The young woman jumped at the chance to drive her attack forward, using the dagger to slash at him whenever she could. When his back hit the wall behind him, she threw herself at him as her sword sunk into his stomach and then she used the dagger to tear out his throat.

The last opponent turned tail and ran, but Desideria refused to let a single one escape. So, grabbing one of the throwing knives from the soldier she still had pinned to the wall, she let the weapon fly. He tumbled down with a scream, and after yanking out her sword from the dead soldier so his corpse slid to the ground, Desideria walked toward the still breathing man. The knife had gotten him in the leg so he couldn't flee, and as she approached she saw that it was the second archer whose arrow had stuck her, which was the reason he stayed back so he could look for an opening to attack her. However, at seeing that he was the only one left, he had fled. While the first archer she killed had shot her brother, this one was the reason she had lost her grip on Alessio.

The man looked up at her as she walked toward him, and she wondered what he saw. Her face was bloody and her short, curly hair was wild and matted with blood as well. Desideria didn't know whether he saw his corrupt life flash before his eyes, or the hell-fire that awaited him. The only thing she knew for certain was that he would die today; by her hand.

She dropped the sword in her hand as she went, picking up an axe that one of the dying soldiers had dropped, and without hesitation she heaved it over her head and brought it down. It cut through the fingers of the hand he'd lifted as if to ward off a blow, and buried into his skull with a sickening crack. Desideria lifted a booted foot to place on the axe to drive it in deeper with another disturbing crunch before stumbling back.

Only then did Desideria truly look around and the dead soldiers that were spread from the rooftop a few feet away, and to where she stood as she heaved with the exertion. Her breathing picked up as hysteria started to buzz in her head so she couldn't think straight. The only two things that were running through her mind were that her brother was dead, and she'd just killed almost a dozen men. Desideria hands grasped at clumps of her hair, oily with blood and yanked, but it did nothing to calm her down. She was aware that she was screaming, and she screamed until her throat was raw.

The young woman's anguished cries attracted attention and saw several soldiers running toward her. Her head angled in a reptilian tilt as the afternoon sunlight glinted off their drawn swords, and she was moving again. Desideria's hands quickly looted the dead archers' body and used two of the acquired throwing knives on the advancing enemies. The first two in front were killed and the others stumbled over their fallen bodies. Desideria took advantage of their falter, and darted into their midst and killed another of them before they had time to react, so it brought their number down to five. She placed her back to the wall as they circled her like sharks, waiting to jump forward and devour her.

Desi made the first move as she attacked the one on her left when he stepped too close to her. He blocked the swing of her newly recovered sword, and cried out as her side was cut in a deep gash by a second opponent. She tried to stem the flow of blood while defending but it wasn't easy. The soldiers saw this and became bolder as they attacked her more while they guffawed at her frantic swings. Desideria knew she was in trouble, but she refused to surrender willingly. These men were not the one's responsible for Alessio's death, but it was enough that they wore the same uniform. It was enough reason knowing that while they hadn't killed her brother, they _had_ murdered someone else's loved one. So, going against that corruption was enough to keep her fighting; enough reason to die for.

She gasped as she was disarmed as she stumbled back, and fumbled for her dagger while they took advantage to crowd her against the building at her back. Desideria wasn't stupid and thus she knew they would only injure her enough so she couldn't fight anymore, and then they would take their time with her. The young woman would rather die on their swords that allow them to defile her.

So, while she was prepared to die, but not before taking several more of these bastards with her. One of the soldiers surged forward and she slashed at him with her dagger, but he caught hold of her wrist as she screamed and tried to pull away but his hold was like iron. Desideria was stunned as a crossbow bolt flew through the air as the man grunted in pain, and when he crumpled on his knees she saw it sticking out of his back. Rather than question it, she just tore her wrist away from his hand, and promptly ripped out his throat as a burst of blood hit her already filthy face.

Desi went on the defensive as they started to attack her again, and she had no choice but to use her dagger. She didn't have much reach with it, but she was faster than when she wielded a sword. So, she managed to avoid their swings but she wasn't good enough with the short weapon to get past their defenses.

Suddenly, she saw an opening as she darted in, lifting her weaponless arm to block his swing and then ferociously stabbing him several times in the chest. The man lifted his knee to drive it into her stomach and she staggered back as she coughed, and was immediately engaged by another opponent so she didn't know if the soldier was dead as he crumpled to the ground. Although, whether he was alive or not, she doubted he would be able to rejoin the fight after such serious wounds.

The mysterious person that shot the crossbow bolt had joined the fray and the other two soldiers left were fighting him. Meanwhile, Desideria and her opponent circled one another as they traded blows, and all the while she could feel the wound at her side tearing open further. As she jumped away from a swing of his sword, a sharp stab of pain made her falter as she lurched to the side, but barely managed to keep her balance. The man used her momentary loss of coordination to try and run her through with his sword, and stumbled to a halt before collapsing to the ground. Only then did she see the crossbow bolt sticking out of his back.

Rather than being relieved, Desi was annoyed that her fight had been interrupted before she could finish it. So, one could almost excuse her vehemence when she saw the soldier she stabbed earlier was still alive, and slipped out a throwing knife which soon found itself embedded into his left eye. The man that had helped her had been looting the corpses, and now paused to glance at her over his shoulder. The fact that it was the same one that had killed Il Carnifice made her pause in surprise at finally finding him, and then felt resentment because if only he had come sooner, perhaps Alessio could have been saved.

She dropped to one knee as he finally approached her. "The liberation of Roma has begun," he spoke, placing his hand on her shoulder as she stood. "If you wish to flee then do so now, but if you chose to fight, stand with me against the Borgia."

"You saved me. Only allow me the honor to serve you," she answered. Desideria didn't tell him that while serving him, she would also be carrying out her revenge against those that had killed her brother. So, as she was directed to look for a man named Niccolo Machiavelli at Isola Tiberina, her mind was racing on not only all the good she could do, but the vengeance against the Borgia. She would ensure they, as well as any of their followers, had a bloody end, and if she had to cut a blood path through Roma, then so be it.

~o~

Severino's black eyes opened as he regained consciousness before the sun had broken free of the horizon, and he lay there a few moments longer as he let his mind wander. It'd been almost a year since he had to chase a thief to recover his uncle's money pouch, and then having to immediately defend himself from guards. Since that time, many good and bad things had happened. In his opinion, the good weren't enough to outweigh the bad.

Also, he didn't think his uncle would approve of him having left his studies to take up the sword. It was the same sword and dagger he had pilfered from one of the unconscious guards all those months ago. Although, while he understood that his Zio Rocco wanted him to be an educated man, but he had to make his own way, since the man wasn't there anymore. His uncle had passed away two months ago, and to this day he couldn't properly explain the reason. He had been complaining of a pain in his chest and all along his left arm and hand. Then suddenly, he had clutched his chest before collapsing. Severino had rushed him to the doctor's stand nearby, but there hadn't been much he could do.

Severino had never understood the reason for his uncle's death, but, regardless, it didn't change the fact that he was alone now. So, he now had to be his own voice of reason, and make his own decisions. The young man's hand moved up to the necklace resting against his bare throat as he remembered the night his uncle had died.

_'Take...this. Your mother gave it to me when we were children, and I've treasured it all these years. Now, I want you to have it...my son. Your eyes...are the same shade as hers.'_

Severino's fingers tightened around the pendant as he recalled the heartbreaking memory. Rocco Martucci never had children of his own, so when a twelve-year-old Severino had come to live with him, he'd raised the preteen as his own son. Although Severino had never referred to the man as 'padre', but he was the closest thing to a father after his parents had perished. Also, he knew that his father had other brothers and they had children, so he wasn't completely alone. He had always kept in touch with them, but when his uncle had died he had wrote and told them that he planned on staying in Roma. Severino had said that he would continue with his uncle's stand and make his own way before marrying his fiancé. However, all of that had been a lie.

The young man had sold the shop, since he knew that he didn't have the ability to run it properly, and the supposed fiancé didn't exist. The real reason he stayed was because he enjoyed stamping out the Borgia corruption. Ever since the destruction of the tower, their part of Antico District had improved exponentially, but on most days, the Borgia guards tried to regain control by harassing the shop and stand owners. He had come upon such a sight about three months ago, and using his stolen sword and his newly gained skills, he had attacked the soldiers. It was either sheer dumb luck or his better swordsmanship –and he tended to lean toward the former– but he managed to defeat them, and afterwards he had looted their bodies.

That first time it had been an impulse to help the Marcante de D'arte being harassed, and not only had the adrenaline rush thrilled him, but he'd also seen how grateful the shop owner had been. Severino could admit now that he was addicted to that rush he got during a good sword fight, but he started because he wanted to help people. So, even if it pained him, he had sold his uncle's shop, and started to defend the people of the Antico District.

He lived off the fiorini he looted off the soldiers, and while it was a meager existence, it made him happy and he was doing some good. Also, the people he helped always gifted him with food and clothes, so he never went hungry or without clothing on his back.

Severino finally moved out of his make-shift bed and stretched to get the kinks out of his neck and back. He started to get ready for the day even if it was still dark outside, but he needed to be gone before the owners of the house woke up and found him using their storage shed as shelter. It was one of the disadvantages of living the way he was, since it meant he hardly had money and couldn't keep living at his old home. However, he was satisfied with how he was at the moment, despite the fact that after two months he was becoming well known by the guards. The young man had even seen the occasional wanted poster of him, which had alarmed him at first before seeing the measly reward being offered for his capture. His level of notoriety was also overshadowed by the wanted posters of a mysterious hooded figure, which had no name only the substantial reward and that the man or his corpse would guarantee payment.

Severino couldn't fathom what someone had to do to warrant such treatment, and he imagined rape, murder, and a dozen other nefarious crimes against the people of Roma. Then he had glanced at his own wanted poster clutched within his hand after having ripped it off, and wondered if this man was truly a criminal, or had committed some crime against the Borgia. In his opinion, that was usually a good thing, and if that were the case then he would do the man a favor by taking it down again. After tearing it off the wall, he contemplated the man and couldn't quite place the feeling of familiarity. Severino had shrugged at the time before balling up both posters and tossing them aside.

The black haired man moved out of the shed and into the crisp morning air, glancing toward the east where the sun would soon come out. After making sure the sword was secure at his side, he stretched his muscles, and jogged toward the fence at the edge of the property and the midnight black horse tied there. After putting the saddle and the bit, he climbed up, and as he was trotting off, he glanced over his shoulder. A grin lifted his lips when he saw the door of the main house open, and realized how close he'd been to being caught. Despite the precautions he always took, there were the occasional times he had been caught and had to flee; at times in only his undergarments and once he'd been bare ass naked.

This as well was an adrenaline rush, and especially if they had weapons when they discovered Severino, or if their shouts attracted the attention of the guards. Although, if the soldiers became involved, it usually went from a chase to a fight, since Severino refuse to run if he stood a chance of winning. At first, Severino had been hesitant to kill any of them, and was convinced that a good beating would be enough to set them straight. However, one incident involving a spice vendor had changed that way of thinking.

Severino had taken to strolling through the market several times a day to look for any soldiers causing trouble. He'd come upon two soldiers hassling a young woman selling spices, who was refusing to pay the taxes, simply because they were ridiculously high. They had informed her that she could pay in 'other ways' and one tried to drag her into the nearest alley. Severino had stepped in and proceeded to beat the two soldiers until they were nearly unconsciousness, and instead of killing them, he had warned both to stay away from her. He had assumed they'd be too scared to bother her again and had left it at that.

Severino had later learned, after her lifeless body had been pulled out of the Tevere two days later, that her name was Diana. From what could be discerned which the river waters hadn't decomposed, she'd been raped and her throat cut almost from ear to ear. The next soldiers he found bullying anyone unjustly had been butchered by his hand, and he had felt no remorse. The only thing he regretted was allowing that poor woman to pay for his mistake. However, it was on he wouldn't ever make again.

The horse snorted as he caught something on the wind as they were passing close il Colosseo, and the surrounding area was quiet this early in the morning. Severino listened and tried to figure out what had spooked his horse. Although, calling it his wasn't completely true. It was during one of his numerous altercations with the soldiers that a Captain on a horse came charging toward him. Severino had reacted on instinct, ducking the swing of his sword before surging up to slash at him with his sword. The rider had come off as he clutched his wound, and Severino had climbed onto the horse to escape the other guards. While he usually wasn't one to flee like some coward, he also knew when he was outnumbered.

Even though he could barely feed himself, he had kept the horse and thus had started to pick houses close to a stable where he could find shelter with his fellow horses. The ebony horse, who he had named Martucci after his uncle, had taken to him quickly and soon enough learned to distinguish his call. So, he wasn't worried that someone would try and steal him, since he was also real stubborn on whom he let ride him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he instinctively ducked, and a split second later heard the hiss of a crossbow bolt cut through the air where his head had just been. Severino cursed and propelled Martucci into a gallop while he fumbled for his sword as another projectile whizzed by them; too close for comfort. The young man twisted in his seat in time to swing the weapon and cut a crossbow bolt in half. However, he couldn't turn his gaze away from the front for too long and run the risk of Martucci passing under something where Severino wouldn't duck in time and wind up being knocked off.

He also had to keep most of his attention forward to maneuver the stallion where he wouldn't trample any innocent bystanders. There weren't many people out this early, but there were some that were awake before the sun had even risen. As it was, the mentioned celestial body was just cresting the horizon and thus provided him with enough light to see his pursuers. He was confused to see a Captain on a white mare and another five soldiers of a lower rank also on horseback, while one of them aimed a crossbow at the middle of his back.

Severino cursed as he wildly dodged another bolt and almost fell out of the saddle, but his hold on the saddle horn kept him from tumbling off. As he hung half-way out of the saddle, he realized he'd lost the reigns and Martucci started to head toward areas a bit more populated. At some point they had entered Centro, which means they were heading north-west. When he finally managed to right himself and took up the reigns, he had no choice but to continue in the direction he was already going. He knew that the path he was taking now would eventually lead to Isola Tiberina, and he knew it would be a gamble to maneuver there since the buildings were so close together. It was likely that by the time he passed over the bridge the streets would be flowing with a steady stream of pedestrians.

As he was about to veer east, he heard one of the pursuers' horse gallop closer before he was unceremoniously tackled out of his saddle. Both men tumbled to the ground as the horses galloped off, and Severino grunted as he hit the ground hard. Almost immediately he tried to scramble away from the soldier whom had landed on top of him, and when he tried to hold onto him, the younger man resorted to kicking and punching at his body until he released him at last. Severino staggered to his feet and drew his sword at once as the Captain recovered as well, rushing at him.

Severino side stepped his first strike, but instead of countering he merely observed his style and how he moved. So he was able to successfully parry his third strike and move past his defenses to land a blow to his forearm. The Captain hissed more in anger than pain and his next attack was wilder, so Severino was easily able to disarm him. He grabbed, twisted him around so he was facing away from him and pressed the blade of the sword against his throat. By that point the other five had caught up with them, but seeing that he had a hostage, they dismounted and surrounded them.

His eyes darted around to observe the other five and the weapons they carried or that were visible on their bodies, which weren't concealed. If they attacked him with any projectiles such as throwing knives, then he would use the Captain as a meat shield and then defend himself as best as he could from them before formulating an escape route. Severino didn't know why they had suddenly attacked him, since the owners of that house he'd stayed in hadn't caught him, and he had done anything to garner their attention, yet. Although, there was something vaguely familiar about the soldiers circling them as well as the Captain, but despite this he didn't ask who they were or what they wanted, or why they had attacked him. Another reason was because he had nothing to discuss with these vermin.

"Where's Mezzanotte?" the Captain suddenly shouted, snapping Severino's attention to him. Severino wondered who the hell he was talking about. "Where is my fucking horse?" he demanded next.

Like a spark igniting dry grass, did realization hit him on who this man was. He was Martucci's former owner, the one whom he had stolen the ebony stallion from almost two months ago. His eyes lifted to the other five soldiers and looking at them closely, he realized that he knew them as well. The three on the left were the thieves that tried to steal his uncle's money pouch, and the two on the right were the ones that had killed Diana, the spice vendor.

The one that had been trying to drag the poor woman into the alley smirked as their eyes met over the distance, and he _knew_ that Severino had become aware of who they were. He licked his lips in an obscene manner as Severino watched with waxing furor, his fingers clenching around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles were bone white. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he flicked out his dagger with his free hand and brought it over his head before plunging it vehemently into his hostage's chest before twisted it in place. The Captain gasped before his scream was lost in a gurgling death rattle when blood filled his throat.

His comrades shouted in outrage and lunged at him, and Severino released his hold on the near death man, kicking him forward so he careened into the three on the left. While two tumbled to the ground with the corpse on them and the third staggered back, Severino furiously attacked the two rapists. His dagger had managed to break through the thin armor, but had bent when he'd twisted it and thus abandoned it. However, he had also relieved the dying man of his own sword and used both swords to attack. It was only fortunate that the second weapon was a rapier instead of a Captain's sword, which was heavier. He didn't care why the man had it, only that it was serving him better to defend against two opponents. The men were momentarily overwhelmed with his fervor, but it was all he needed to plunge his long sword into one of the men's abdomen, just below his ribs. He choked in shock and pain, or perhaps his own blood, but dismissed him and instead concentrated on his next opponent.

The other three had recovered and surrounded him as he immediately went on the defensive. He wanted to take them out one by one and be left with the last rapist, who was sure had been the one that had raped Diana. Severino wanted to take his time with him, so when he went to attack him, Severino ducked under the swing of his sword and delivered a sharp blow to his solar plexus that promptly rendered him unconscious. The other three attacked as they tried to get him away from the knocked out man, and he allowed them to since he wanted him out of the way for now.

It was easy work after that, doing a counter attack and killing one, sweeping the feet out from under the second and plunging the sword into his stomach while he was down, and the third managed to impale himself upon both his swords. Severino stayed in the offensive stance for several seconds as he panted in exhaustion, but after a moment he gathered himself and walked toward the passed out man. Or rather, whom he had assumed was out cold, but he suddenly sprang upon him and plunged his knife into his side. "Cazzo!" Severino cursed, staggering back as he swiped at him with his sword but the man sprang back.

"Oooh, I was waiting for this," he practically moaned, lifting the weapon so he could lick the blood off the blade. Severino shuddered at the mad glint in the man's blue eyes, flinging the rapier aside since he knew another weapon would only impede him against an opponent with a short weapon. "You remember me, don't you?" He smirked as he saw Severino stiffen, the man's unarmed hand moving down to his belt and the pouch he had there. From inside he pulled out a clump of brown hair tied with a blood-red ribbon, and he now sniffed at it with another obscene moan. "This was hers, you know? Best fuck I ever had." His head tilted as Severino growled angrily, knowing his words were increasing his ire. "Did you know she was a virgin?"

Severino screamed in fury, charging at the man as he laughed and parried every attack he threw at him. There was no leeway on either part and it lasted so long that it brought the attention of a patrol and immediately joined with the other soldier to attack Severino. He could tell the other man was angered by their help rather than grateful, and knew that it was only because he had wanted the chance to kill Severino. However, now anyone would soon be able to finish him off since he was losing blood fast and he could only do so much against five of them while staunching the flow of blood.

A sharp whistle cut through the clamor and white robed, broad shouldered man, and a slender figure in black garments swooped down on the fight. The four guards were overwhelmed by both of them, but Severino was busy trying to figure out where that bastard had gone to. A body slammed into him and both tumbled to the ground, Severino clutched at the man by the shoulder and one hand clamped firmly around the wrist of the hand holding the knife. "We'll meet again, amico," he whispered in his ear like a lover. "Giulio Rosso. Remember it well."

Severino grunted as he jerked his wrist away so the knife plunged into the ground, instead of his face. "Severino Sabelli, don't _you_ forget it," he growled at him, kneeing him in the stomach so he rolled off him. The man had grabbed hold of his sword, though, and gave a triumphant grin before darting away while his comrades fell to the other's swords. Severino's eyes narrowed on his retreating figure before bending down to recover the knife he'd left behind. It had a white handle with an odd engraving he couldn't identify, and without a second thought slid it into the sheath of his lost dagger.

His knees buckled under him as vertigo seized him, clutching at his side where Giulio had stabbed him. He needed to take care of it soon, and for a moment wondered where Martucci was. Severino put his thumb and middle finger to his mouth and blew so a shrill whistle came out. A few seconds later the sound of hooves beating on the ground was heard and the black stallion came into view. When he came to a stop in front of him, Severino reached out to haul himself onto the saddle when the white-robed man called out to him. He turned toward him and the other, whom he saw was a woman, and as he did the same feeling of lightheadedness seized hold of him. Severino was falling before he could stop himself and then the ground was rushing up to meet him.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, catching snatches of conversation but unable to get a clear idea of what was happening.

_"Desideria, ...his wound and–"_

_"Are you sure, Maestro? He...recluta, since he–"_

_"I'm sure..."_

Severino didn't remember much after that and woke up in a building located on Isola Tiberina. The man in white, which was the same in those wanted posters, was named Ezio Auditore da Firenze. He asked him to join the fight to liberate Roma from the oppression of the Borgia. In the corner, the young woman who was a few years his junior, snorted in disgust and crossed her arms over her chest, but Severino paid her no mind. Instead, he accepted Ezio's invitation, and the next day he donned the robes of an Assassin recluta, and while he trained that name was burned into his mind. Giulio Rosso.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarto - Tailor  
> Ponte Fabricio - Fabricius' Bridge  
> il Colosseo - Coliseum  
> Mezzanotte - Midnight  
> recluta - recruit


	14. Serial Offender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, this chapter came together at last. It’s a huge chapter, 47 pages long (but that’s with a text size of 20 points, lol). Most of my inspiration would come during work, and it was hard to write there so I’ve been trying to finish it since last week. Now, this would have been posted earlier but either it’s my internet fucking up, or the site that’s messing up. Now, going by the title, it’s obvious the outcome of this chapter, but either way, there’s a reason the uncle’s name isn’t mentioned throughout the whole chapter. Now, happy reading!

**Chapter Twenty-three:** _Serial Offender_

_1497_

There were days when she would stare off into space, her eyes glazing over in memory as she daydreamed. It was during those times that she thought of the parents that had abandoned her almost ten years ago on the eve of her fifth birthday, and the times as a child where she’d been so happy. Her uncle and she had come to Roma in 1487 and with his knowledge of medicine they had persevered, and he never spoke of either her mother or her father; his brother. Also, the man had no patience for her daydreams, and usually snapped her out of it with a swift slap across the back of the head. The blow itself wasn’t painful and it only served to startle her back into reality, but it reminded her never to think of them when he was around. It angered the man to no end for reasons she couldn’t understand when she was the one that she be angry at them. Even then, they were her parents and could never shake the feeling of pain and longing.

Now, Bianca didn’t dare daydream during her lessons or adhere to the consequences, but usually they were too interesting for her not to pay attention. Although, at fifteen she could proudly say she could successfully stitch or cauterize a wound, and redress an injury. If prompted she could admit knowing how to pop a dislocated shoulder, arm or leg back into place, and also splint any broken appendage as well. The doctor had also instilled the knowledge of plants and herbs within her; both lethal and benign. While she didn’t have an extensive understanding of healing herbs that her uncle had, she was more than proficient than him with the poisonous ones. The reason for this was that before the “accident” that left him a bit...different, he couldn’t memorize certain things. He was horrible at remembering names or something new he had read, but everything he had learned before remained intact within his mind. So, he knew how to heal as well, or better than any doctor, but he hadn’t studied poisons extensively, so he could never remember anything he read. This is the reason he tasked her with anything having to do with poisonous plants, and which he assured were used mostly to get rid of infestations of vermin.

Bianca paused in her thoughts to look at what she had just added to the mixture, and realized it was Aconite. She cursed under her breath at having let her mind wander when she should have been paying attention, and discreetly glanced over her shoulder. The man was working in the corner and jotting down something in the ledger he was always writing in. Bianca never asked about it; like most things he did, but she was curious about what he wrote in there. Her curiosity was pushed aside for the moment to concentrate on more important things. He was clearly not paying her any mind and thus she discreetly dumped what she was working on. When she thought she had succeeded and was about to start on another batch, she felt a hand connect with the back of her head. Bianca winced in pain, since the hit had been harder that time, most likely because she had tried to hide her mistake from him.

“What have I told you about daydreaming when working?” he snapped coldly. She turned to face him, unable to see his eyes due to the mask but she could still feel them boring a hole into her. His hand snapped forward to grab one of the bowls where the poppy seeds were crushed into paste, but was now only a dollop. “You’re wasting ingredients, stupid girl.”

Bianca hung her head so as not to get smacked again. “I could go buy more,” she suggested. While she said it, she wondered if she should buy the seeds and plant them in her garden out back. His head lifted to regard her silently as a shudder raced up her spine, since it was during those times when he observed her that she felt almost scared. Then she’d remember it was just her Zio and would dismiss the thought. He abruptly shoved the bowl into her hands before he turned away and moved back to what he was doing. Bianca stared after him in bemusement but figured it was all the man would say to her, but whether he would agree with her idea was another story. Instead of further risking his ire, she would just do it and that way she would have poppy seeds whenever she needed them.

She slipped silently out of the room, trying not to make too much noise since he disliked loudness and unnecessary interruptions. Once out of the room, she hurried down the hall and removed the leather smock that she wore which was similar to his. Underneath she wore her regular clothing, the long sleeved white shirt and a vest so she almost looked like a man. She had only a dagger at her waist, but it was mostly used for cutting plants or peeling while making certain healing salves or poisons.

Bianca also carried a pouch filled with medicine and bandages, and another filled with poison in unmarked containers. If she were to be stopped and questions by the guards for whatever reason, it would not be in her best interest to be found with poison. The medicine and bandages were understandable, since it was known –although frowned upon-- that she helped her uncle, and there were some that trusted her to heal their minor injuries. However, the poison was something that she was bought on a whim in order to study its components and effects, but it was too slow-acting for her uncles’ tastes. It took about five minutes for it to kill its target, which first started with the affected victim hallucinating they were being attacked and they’d wildly defend themselves from invisible enemies. After several wild swings of a weapon or their limbs, they’d collapse in a seizure as they foamed from the mouth, and then shortly die. It was messy, but not as much as Bianca’s first poison.

The young girl, since she was no more than fourteen at the time, had been aiming for a euthanasia-like effect in the death where the heart would slow followed by the other organs. Then a sleepy feeling would take over the victim and they’d be force to sit or lay down, and then death would take them shortly after. However, Bianca had done something horribly wrong, and instead it caused the body to go into a massive internal hemorrhaging accompanied by immense pain. Bianca hadn’t been there for the testing, since her uncle forbade it, but he had informed her that the animal used had screamed in agony seconds after it was administered, and shrieked on until death finally claimed it minutes later.

She couldn’t begin to imagine how the poor creature had suffered, but the thought drove her the past year to perfect it. So far, she had managed to numb the pain, but not the bleeding out. Then there were signs of the poison which appeared on the body, which according to her uncle, were the fur turning a pale-yellow and an alabaster white tongue. Bianca was trying to not only keep the subject from hemorrhaging, but also eliminate any signs of poisoning. During all her research, she had also learned which plants could paralyze a person in seconds, and those that helped relieve a stomach ache, as well as send them into a death-like slumber.

She ducked under the half drawn curtain that separated the back with the examination room, and finally exited into what she lovingly called “the waiting room”. That was where anyone accompanying the patient that her uncle was attending would wait; thus the name. Today it was empty since they were closed until noon so as to replenish their healing salves, elixirs, sleeping aids, and anything else they provided to their patients. Now, she said their patients, but any help that she received was overlooked, however, by that time she was used to her uncles’ preterition of her work and skills. He did allow her to patch a few of them up, but it usually only consisted of something minor that wasn’t too life-threatening, since that was left to the real doctor.

~o~

Bianca’s nose wrinkled at the extravagant price of the seeds as she fingered the fiorini that she had within her money pouch, and knew she wouldn’t have enough. Her cobalt eyes shifted toward the stand owner, seeing that he was distracted her hand darted out and stole a handful of opium seeds and stored them in her medical pouch as quickly as she could. When he turned toward her, she grabbed another two handfuls of the less expensive poppy seeds to buy, but still needed for a sleeping aid.

The man eyed her warily but said nothing as he took the offered money, and then she stored the seeds in a separate pouch that she had for this very reason. “Grazie, Messere,” she chirped before skipping off, giggling like a naughty child. She made sure to leave the square as quickly as possible, so the man wouldn’t become too suspicious and want to search her. Of course, she’d never allow it, but Bianca couldn’t risk getting the attention of the guards.

As she was cutting through an alleyway, she paused at hearing raised voices heading in her direction and quickly ducked behind some crates. Bianca had no sooner hidden when a man dragged a woman into the alley. From her extravagant and revealing clothing, it was quite obvious that she was a courtesan, and Bianca was mesmerized by how beautiful she was. The man, on the other hand, looked like he had been beaten with the ugly stick.

Bianca couldn’t hear what they were arguing about and she didn’t dare get closer. However, when she heard a sharp slapping sound she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her mouth. The man cursed at hearing her before rushing away and leaving the downed woman where she’d fallen after being hit. Bianca didn’t think about it twice and left her hiding place to hurry to her side. “Are you alright?” she murmured to the blonde young woman. Bianca was only slightly surprised to realize that she looked to be her age, and even with the rapidly forming bruise on her cheek, she was still stunningly beautiful.

Her eyes were a brilliant blue that put the sky to shame, and her rosy plush lips were smeared in blood. “Who are you?” she demanded defensively, her body tensing cautiously. She was struggling to push down her dress, which had hiked up past her thighs when she’d fallen. Meanwhile, Bianca had come to crouch down next to her as she extracted a bandage and some salve. The young woman flinched away from her as she tried to apply it to her lip and cheek. “What is that?”

Bianca’s head tilted slightly as her jet-black hair cascaded over her shoulder. “It’s a healing salve. This will help bring the swelling down, and heal the cut more quickly,” she explained. She gave her a strained smile and offered the bandage with the salve on it, and when the other girl nodded hesitantly Bianca started to spread the medicine liberally over the injured area. “I’m Bianca. What’s your name?”

The blonde girl eyed her suspiciously for a few seconds, before glancing at the small vial in her hands. “Mina,” she whispered, blue eyes darting back to Bianca’s face. “Why do you help me?”

Bianca smirked as she sat back on her haunches, her arms resting on her knees as she continued to grip the now corked vial in her hand. “Because my Zio is a doctor, and he taught me how to help people.” Mina looked skeptical, but Bianca couldn’t say she blamed her since a woman knowing medicine was unheard of. “Here,” she muttered, holding out the vial of salve. “Put it on twice a day and the bruising should be gone in two or three days. If you run out, I’m sure you can get some more from any doctor in the city.”

Mina snorted in an unladylike fashion as she took the medicine from her. “Not likely,” she sneered. She quickly slipped the small glass bottle inside her bust, between her breasts which were pushed up by the corset. “There are few doctors around this district, and the ones that haven’t been run out of business by the Borgia, are hesitant to take our ‘dirty money’.” Mina finally managed to regain her feet, straightening her skirts as she tried to brush off any dirt that still clung to the material. When that was accomplished, she took her money pouch which was also tucked away within her ample bosom, and held out about thirty fiorini toward Bianca.

Bianca had also stood and was taken aback by the money the courtesan was offering to her. “W-what’s this?” she asked, reaching out uncertainly to take it. It felt weird to take money from a woman in her profession, since it was usually they that were being paid for their services.

“It’s for the salve, of course,” Mina said, voice impatient. The light haired woman glanced the way the man had fled before turning back to Bianca. “Listen, if I ask you to bring me more of this and other medicine we may need, would you do it?” Bianca blinked in bemusement at her statement, not sure she understood whom “we” meant. Mina scoffed in irritation at the raven haired female. “Some of the other courtesans may need a doctor’s assistance, and you don’t seem to have the same prejudice as some of the others.”

Bianca’s eyes widened at what she was asking. “Wait! I’m not fully trained yet,” she hastened to make her understand. She indicated the vial which was already out of sight and tucked within her breasts. “I only know how to make certain medicines, poisons, and others.” She hesitated at the half-truth. “I can set a broken bone, align a dislocated limb, and staunch the flow of blood, but there is still so much for me to learn.”

Mina’s eyes lit up in determination. “You’re the one,” she decided on the spot. She grasped Bianca’s arm and started to drag her out of the alley, not caring even as the black eyed girl protested. “We’re going to meet my sisters! They’re going to love you!” Bianca prided herself in her quick wit and excellent vocabulary, but at that moment they both failed her as she stuttered a reply.

“I-I really c-can’t,” she tried to say, Mina shushing her quickly. They made quite the spectacle, an extravagantly dressed courtesan dragging a slender girl in men’s clothes down the street. When the dilapidated Rosa in Fiore came into view, Bianca wondered naught for the first time, how she had gotten herself into this mess. Sometimes, it didn’t really pay to be a Good Samaritan.

Bianca somehow ended up in the sitting room of the Rosa in Fiore, squeezed between two busty courtesans as their over exaggerated use of perfume threatened to activate her gag-reflex. However, it would be very rude to make a comment on it, and thus concentrated on breathing with her mouth despite the nasty feeling the perfume coating the back of her throat. It also wasn’t helping the situation much that some of the woman were commenting and nitpicking her clothes in distaste. Bianca wasn’t sure if it was the coarse material, or the fact that they were too masculine; perhaps both. The only thing she was certain of was that their chattering was giving her a headache.

A voice like silver bells cut through the cacophony in the room as the rest quieted down. “Unlikely the rest of you clucking hens, I highly doubt that this... _child_ is actually trained in medicine. There is no man in his right state of mind that would ever teach a woman the knowledge of medicine.” The courtesan was quite stunning with pale skin, midnight black hair and her eyes were a light brown that surely served to captivate her clients. She didn’t look to that much older than Bianca herself, and she bristled defensively at the jab at her age.

“I have no reason to lie,” she spat as the older girl glared at her. “Mina insisted I come here, and I don’t have to stay and be insulted.” Bianca stood and had a momentary stare off with the other female, and then turned to leave. As she prepared to abandon the room, Mina shot to her feet as well.

“No, do not leave, per favore!” the blonde exclaimed. She immediately went to Bianca’s side as she tried to persuade her to stay. “Do not listen to Gabriele. She is just jealous of your education.” The mentioned woman protested the statement vehemently, but neither Mina nor the other courtesans paid her any mind. “We need someone that will come to attend to us when we are sick, or get injured by a rowdy client.”

Bianca hesitated since she _did_ want to help, but she also didn’t want to get involved with them and wondered what her uncle would say. “I must speak to my uncle about this,” she started, lifting a hand to stop Mina’s protest. “This is not a decision I can make lightly, and especially since I’ve not yet completed my training.” Gabriele scoffed at her statement, but besides leveling her with an agitated glare, Bianca ignored her. To Mina she gave a strained smile. “Don’t forget to apply the salve twice a day.” The adolescent –because that’s what she was– grinned and pulled out the vial to show she still had it. Bianca nodded and excused herself before slipping out through the side door. It wouldn’t look right if someone saw her leaving a place of ill-repute, and was thankful that Mina had not forced her to enter through the front door. Also, her Zio may actually whip her for dishonoring him in such a manner. So, she wanted to speak with him before any of this got back to him, and it definitely would. At the same time she’d ask permission to “practice” her medicinal knowledge on the courtesans whenever they were in need of her services. Bianca wasn’t really sure how he would react, or what his opinion on these women was. She just knew that she really wanted to take on the challenge of her own patients. It would also benefit the courtesans, but that was beside the point.

Bianca peered around the corner of the building, and hurried across the cobblestone street before stopping in the shadow of the old structure that reminded her of an entrance to a crypt of some kind. The gate was locked as it had always been, and the structure itself was dilapidated and falling into disrepair. The same thing could be said about the buildings in the surrounding area, or rather, in the whole district. Granted, they were already half in ruins, but at least people were prospering in their businesses. Bianca shook these thoughts off and decided to hasten home immediately. So, with one last look at the bordello, she jogged away before disappearing around another corner.

~o~

The young woman’s pace was quick as she dashed through the alley, cutting across the street in order to reach another alleyway, and maintained to the back roads until she reached home. At seeing a cart outside made her pause, since she had been certain that today her uncle wouldn’t be accepting any patients. She knew that they were low on their stock of medicines, so to attend to a patient meant that it had to be an emergency.

Bianca decided to go in and see what was happening, pushing past the closed door to go inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the difference in light since it was dimmer inside compared to the brightness of the sun, but when she could finally see her eyes roamed the small waiting room. It was occupied by a young man around her age and noticed that he was frantically pacing. He stopped as she entered and his gaze immediately snapped in her direction. Bianca could admit if only to herself that she was momentarily taken by his dark brown eyes and attractive features, but quickly dismissed him as she moved through the curtain. He may have made a noise of protest but she paid him no heed as she entered the examination room.

She immediately noticed the unconscious young woman lying on the exam table, whom was clearly sedated, and next she spotted her uncle looking for something at the back of the room. “Zio,” she called, alerting him of her presence and was bemused as he stiffened defensively.

“What are you doing here so early?” he demanded angrily, further confusing her. She always assisted him with his patients and wondered why this time should be any different. Although, she hadn’t had any intention of helping him this time, but he didn’t know that.

He slowly turned his head to peer at her over his shoulder as he waited for her response. Bianca could not see his eyes through the holes of the mask he wore, and didn’t remember any instance in the last four years that she had seen him without it. She could scarcely remember what color his eyes were, or what his face looked like. While a part of her understood why he insisted on wearing it, she knew that it had nothing to do with his profession, because she had seen several doctors without them on.

Bianca forced her lips into a smile and decided that she’d wait for now to ask her questions until he finished with this patient. “I finished earlier than I expected, and after purchasing the seeds at the market, I came here.” She would wait until later to tell him about what had happened with the courtesan. The young woman moved to the curtain that led further into the house, and on a table within reach she removed the pouches that had the seeds aside. Bianca didn’t wait for him to say anything as she came back in and washed her hands properly, and came to stand by the sedated woman’s side.

By the way her feet hung over the edge, Bianca could tell she was awfully tall, and was undoubtedly several inches taller than Bianca herself. She had a lean body and strong arms, and she was also very beautiful. If Bianca were vain, then she’d be envious of this stunning creature. Also, not to mention the attractive young man that was anxiously waiting for her, which was obviously her husband, or lover; at the very least. She had never expressed an interest in the opposite sex, and much less marriage or any kind of relationship. However, that one outside had sparked an interest within her, and it was just a shame that he was taken.

“What is wrong with her?” she inquired curiously, since she didn’t look to be injured. The man’s hand caught her wrist in a firm grip as she started to pull back the sheet covering her to get a better assessment on whether there were any visible wounds.

“This is a special patient, who I need to attend to alone,” he warned, pulling her away so the sheet settled back into place. Bianca leveled him with a suspicious look, since he was acting very odd.

“What’s special about her?” she asked instead of backing off as she usually would when he showed any signs of agitation or anger. Bianca could tell the young woman was naked under the sheet, and her instincts were screaming at her not to leave him alone with the other female. She knew that her beloved uncle wasn’t right in the head, but he had raised her when her parents had abandoned her. He had taught her his trade where no one else would have. So, she loved him as if he was her father, but regardless, she would never allow him to harm another if she could prevent it.

Bianca felt his fingers biting viciously into her wrist and knew she’d have bruises there later, but schooled her face into a stony mask. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t help you with this patient, when I’ve helped with countless others?” His grip tightened unbearably for a moment longer before he abruptly released her.

“No, of course not,” he conceded; voice like a sharp blade. His moved away from her as he quickly washed his hands, and then moved to the foot of the table. The man lifted the sheet up so her legs and groin area was exposed, and he spread open her legs and thighs without hesitation. Bianca made a small choking sound when he started to move his fingers over the folds of her sex, and his head shifted to smallest fraction and Bianca knew he was looking at her. “We’re looking for recent vaginal trauma,” he informed her matter-of-factly. However, she could still feel his eyes on her and knew he wanted to see her expressions. The man had always stated that a good Dottore could handle any patient regardless of personal discomfort, so Bianca refused to be scared off. Her lips pressed into a bloodless line as she watched and was prepared to assist him where she could. However, she was tempted to run off when he stuck two fingers inside of her.

After a few moments spent feeling around; he extracted the digits, and Bianca was horrified and disgusted as he lifted his mask just enough to sniff and then lick his fingers. When he was satisfied, he pushed the mask back down over his nose and mouth. “There’s blood and semen mixed in with her natural secretions,” he stated calmly, as if his actions weren’t bizarre at all. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could broach the subject, her uncle moved past the curtain as he beckoned the young man forward.

When it closed after him, she quickly started to dress the young woman. As she did this, she could hear their hushed conversation from the other room, and Bianca stiffened when she clearly heard, “raped” and “recently”. Bianca flinched as she heard a resounding crack after a few tense moments of silence. She worked quietly and efficiently as she strained to hear more, but the conversation seemed to have degenerated to her uncle’s murmuring and the young man’s labored breathing.

She had just finished buttoning up her dress when she felt a hand at her shoulder, and her hand immediately went to her dagger as she turned. The features were more attractive up close even clouded over by grief as they were. Being that close she could see that his dark brown eyes had flecks of a lighter shade of brown, and his hair was the same color and curled at the ends. Her sharp eyes caught sight of a scar along his mandible, and that his nose wasn’t completely straight to indicate that it’d been broken before.

“May I?” he inquired, motioning to the unconscious female, and Bianca calmly stepped aside as she removed her hand from the hilt of her sheathed weapon. He was almost six feet tall, but she felt no threat from him, which was strange since she didn’t even know him.

Bianca watched as he lifted the other female as if she weighed nothing, and carried her out of the room with care. She followed them, past her uncle and out to where he was settling her within the back of the cart. There was hay piled on it with a quilt covering it, and once he finished making sure she was comfortable, he covered her with another worn quilt. Only then did he finally turn to look at her, and while he didn’t ask her what she wanted, his silence was an indication that she could speak and he would listen.

“If you truly love her, then don’t pressure her to talk. Just comfort her, and she’ll tell you eventually.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held out her hand to forestall whatever he was about to say. “Just give her time.”

He stared at her for several silent moments before he finally nodded slightly. “Thank you,” he croaked, his Adams apple working over what was most likely a knot of emotion. Bianca couldn’t help but think that he must really love this young woman, and she hoped he wouldn’t reject her over not having her virtue intact.

When he climbed in and picked up the reigns, Bianca turned away to move back into the house, and without having asked either of their names. She remembered that she also hadn’t given hers, and thought that it was probably for the best.

When she entered the house once more, she vaguely glanced at the wall and the fist-shaped hole that now decorated it. It had been most likely caused by the younger male when the doctor told him the news that the young woman had been raped. Bianca wondered what else they had discussed, since she hadn’t heard the whole conversation. However, she knew better than to ask her uncle for any kind of information on any of his patients. Now thinking of her uncle, they had a pending conversation.

She pushed past the curtain and saw him in the far left corner, sitting at his desk and writing in his ledger. She cleared her throat but he didn’t cease his writing, and she was determined to have him listen. “Zio, I need to ask you something.”

His head finally lifted from what he’d been writing, but she knew it was most likely because he had finished. This particular assumption was confirmed as he set his writing utensil aside, but left the ledger open to allow the ink to dry. The man didn’t stand and merely peered up at her, feeling his eyes on her through that damned mask. At times she wanted to rip it away because it felt like without it he would once again be her beloved uncle, and there was almost a feeling of darkness around him when he wore the face covering.

Bianca inhaled deeply and started to explain what had happened to her after she’d left the market, and finally the courtesans’ petition. When he didn’t say anything right away, she was terrified that he was so furious that he couldn’t find the right words to express himself. However, she was surprised when his head tilted in an indication of thought, which meant he was giving the idea some consideration. When he finally spoke, she was pleasantly surprised at his response. “Si, I believe you are ready for that step,” he muttered thoughtfully. The fingers of his right hand tapped anxiously against the table without him noticing, and she was too excited at this opportunity to really pay attention. “You will...need to keep a detailed account of every patient you attend, and afterwards I will go over it to assess where you need more training.”

She was so happy that she flung herself at him, hugging him enthusiastically and Bianca felt him immediately stiffen against her. The young woman immediately realized her mistake and backed off, smiling sheepishly. “Mi dispiace,” she hastily apologized, not wanting him to change his mind in his ire. Bianca’s uncle had not hugged her shortly after she had turned fourteen, and besides the smack he’d given her earlier, he not touched her either. She had always asked herself the reason for this, but had never dared ask him what they were; had never questioned him on anything.

“Get out,” he hissed, hands shaking at his sides as if he were stopping himself from reaching out to throttle her. Bianca swallowed nervously before she scurried out of the room, and she could hear his labored breathing until she disappeared through the curtain leading further into the house.

~o~

The moonlight flittered in through the window of Bianca’s room, making the white bed sheets glow in the darkness. Her even breathing indicated that she was in a deep sleep as she lay on her back, the ebony strands of her hair spread around her head like a halo, and her pale skin shone as surreally as the blankets. The night was hot, so she had gone to sleep in only a Chemise that she never wore, since Bianca didn’t frequently wear dresses unless she was forced to.

If the room had been darker, the shadowed body in the corner of the room would have been missed, but the moonbeams revealed his unmoving figure. The leather doctor’s smock gave his identity away, but he was lacking his usual mask. His dark brown hair was wild and cascading down over his eyes so only his mouth; which was twisted in a parody of a smile, was visible. He moved slowly toward the bed until he was standing over his niece as his hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. He’d lost count of the times he had stood in this very same spot in the last year.

When it had happened, Bianca had just turned fourteen and had flagrantly failed at creating an untraceable poison. She’d been out recovering ingredients from the garden despite the drizzle of rain coming down, and in a misstep she had fallen in a muddy puddle. The man had taken on look at her filthy state, and sent her at once to bathe. By that time the housemaid had water heated for one of theirs baths, since it was nearing the end of the work day and a lot of people wouldn’t come out to see him in the rain unless it was an emergency.

The older woman had carted Bianca off to her bath while he finished writing his notes, and when he finished he had closed up the front and went to retire. It was as he was passing the teenagers’ room, that the sound of sloughing water and giggling caught his attention. He sighed in exasperation and paused at the door before pushing it open as he inhaled to snap at his niece for playing in the bath like some child. However, the sight before him made the breath leave his lungs like a punch in the gut.

Bianca’s head was turned away from him so she hadn’t noticed that the door had opened, but he could see the curve of her back and the swell of her breasts. Her smooth, creamy skin was unblemished and he knew it was untouched, and the thought sent a sudden shudder of arousal through his body as it coiled in his loins. In that instant, he might have forgotten that she was his own flesh and blood if her voice hadn’t snapped him out of it. Bianca had started to sing as she splashed around like the five year old he had stolen, and it was the lullaby he had sung to her that night during their trip to Roma. He had sang her to sleep with it the nights she had sobbed on his shoulders for parents she believed had abandoned her, and if he had his way, that’s what she would always believe. That night, he had fled and tried to bury his salacious thoughts, but he had already seen her and the sight would not leave his mind. This is the reason he had stopped hugging and touching her, and retreated further and further away from her.

He crouched down by the bed as his eyes hungrily drank in her visible pale skin, and he lifted a trembling hand toward her slumbering features. His fingers had just brushed rosy cheeks when she moaned in her sleep and shifted away from his touch. The man curled his fingers away from her, and when he noticed her eyelashes flutter as if threatening to awaken, he straightened and silently exited the room. When her dark blue eyes opened a moment later, Bianca thought she saw a face staring at her through the crack in the door, but she had drifted off to sleep once more and in the morning she didn’t remember.

~o~

_1497_

Bianca entered the dilapidated building through the back door as was accustomed to and started on her routine. She set her bag on the table nearby and started to go over the supplies she may need that day, since the courtesans at times had all sorts of ailments and injuries. The fifteen year old remembered that last week Gabriele had a severe fever and Bianca had to stay almost three days at the Rosa in Fiore. Of course, she had sent a messenger to her uncle to inform him that she had to care for the young woman. Bianca had stayed in the room with her, and slept in a chair while she tried to cool her body temperature. It had been a pure miracle that she had managed to keep the taller woman in the bed, since she had tried to get up several times in her delirium. Finally, the fever had broken the third night but had maintained her stay there until she was sure Gabriele was out of danger. Bianca and she had come to a reluctant truce after months of animosity between both women.

The young woman was broken out of her habitual actions by loud crash followed by screams that originated from the back stairs leading up into the private rooms. She grabbed her bag and took the stairs two at a time, and then pushed through the other courtesans that had crowded around the door. Bianca was momentarily startled by the sight of the woman on the bed, blood heavily staining it and some splattered on the surrounding walls. Then she snapped into action as she pushed past the distraught woman next to her as she held onto her hand. “Get her out of here,” she commanded one of the others and they moved without question to obey her order.

Her name was Cristina and she was still breathing, but the two stab wounds on her midsection were oozing dangerous amounts of blood. Bianca judged by the color of the blood that no major organs had been punctured. However, if she didn’t stop the bleeding soon then she’d die of blood loss.

“Give me hot water and clean rags, and someone start a fire!” There was a flurry of movement as they rushed off to obey her order. Meanwhile, Bianca had to cut away her clothing, and then used the bandages that she had in her bag to try and staunch the flow of blood. Her head snapped toward the fire place and saw Mina making the fire, and moments’ later one of the courtesans rushed in with a pot of clean, cold water which she set on the hearth in the fire place.

When the water was hot enough they brought it over to Bianca’s side along with the rags which they had used by cutting up a bed sheet. She cleaned the wound with soap and the water, and then dug her fingers in each of the stab wounds to make sure there were no fragments of metal or anything that could cause infection. When she was absolutely sure she glanced up at the delirious woman that looked on the verge of fainting. “I have to cauterize the wound or you’ll bleed to death,” she informed the barely conscious woman. Cristina may have made a sound of protest, but Bianca was trying to save her life and had no time for arguments. So, she motioned toward Mina who brought over the hot fireplace poker and without waiting, she pressed it to the first wound. Cristina wailed in pain and tried to buck her off. “Hold her!” she snapped at Mina, who immediately surged forward on top of her friend. She wanted to reassure the sobbing woman that the pain was almost over, but she had no time and pressed the burning metal to the second injury.

Bianca handed over the poker to another courtesan and inspected the burns to make sure the holes had closed, and was relieved or she didn’t have to do it again. She leaned toward Cristina to check her over, but Cristina pushed her away as she wept into Mina’s shoulder, who embraced her. Bianca sighed but moved away all the same as she grabbed her bag. “She needs complete bed rest.” Mina glanced helplessly at her, but Bianca held out a placating hand. “Stay with her,” she reassured her.

Once she left the room, she was met by Gabriele as they eyed one another uncertainly. It was the courtesan that spoke first. “You did what you had to do to save her life.” She moved past her, bumping her good-naturedly as she went. Bianca chuckled with a nod and moved back downstairs.

She was writing in her ledger what had happened and the actions she’d taken to cure the victim when Mina entered the room. The black haired young woman glanced at her friend. “What happened?” she asked her. Bianca had noticed several things when she had entered that room, and the first had been that there had been a struggle judging by the broken pieces of furniture. The second thing was the open balcony door, which had broken glass to indicate that they’d been flung open in a rush. Finally, the door of the room had looked to have suffered damage and was even off one of its hinges.

Mina inhaled deeply before practically collapsing in the chair across from her. There were blood stains on her beautiful flowing orange dress as well as a smear across her right cheek. “Cristina had a client that came very regularly, but would get easily jealous of her other clients. He offered to get out of this life, but she refused since she stated that she loved this kind of life. He left but swore that she would regret this decision.” The blonde girl started to notice the blood that was staining her dress and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Today he barged in, took Cristina by force, and locked them up in her room. We called for help from the guards and they came running inside. That’s when we heard her scream and they knocked down the door, and Joanna just started screaming when she saw Cristina.” Mina shook her head as she rubbed at her bloodshot eyes, and Bianca knew she had been crying. “He escaped through the balcony doors and the guards gave chase. That’s when you came in,” she offered a smile, “and saved Cristina’s life. You were amazing!”

Bianca felt her face start to heat up as she cleared her throat. “I just did what I’m paid to do. It was nothing more than my duty.” Secretly, she was giddy with joy because it was her first crisis and she had saved her patient!

~o~

It was the creaking of the floorboards that alerted them that they had company. The maid wasn’t there that night, and her uncle never made any unnecessary noise. Bianca knew this was someone that did not live here and she silently slipped out of bed with her dagger in hand. She peered through the crack in her door out into the hallway and saw several figures moving carefully down from the front. There were at least four of them and what she could see in the faint moonlight revealed that they were soldiers. Bianca knew that there was no good reason for them being there, and gripped her weapon tighter as two came toward her door.

She scurried behind the door without making a sound and when it opened all the guards would see was her empty, unmade bed. Bianca heard one of them curse as the other went further into the room. Her fingers were going numb with how tight she was holding the hilt of her dagger. After the man finished searching the room and found no sign of her, both of them left and the door slammed after them. Bianca didn’t allow herself even a sigh of relief as she hurried to get dressed. She didn’t worry that they would surprise her uncle, since she knew he had heard them before she had.

The sound of a scuffle interrupted her as she pulled on her clothes, and immediately grabbed up her dagger and rushed out of the room. Bianca was intercepted halfway down the hall by a tall, brute of a man that caught her up as she screamed. She flailed her arm as she tried to at least scratch him with her weapon, but his hold was unyielding. The blade of the knife was coated in her poison that she had just finished making, but which hadn’t been tested yet. Even if she hadn’t gotten the effect she wanted, at least the poison would be enough to keep him from harming her.

Bianca gasped as she was bodily lifted off her feet and the man started to carry her off. “While they interrogate the good doctor, why don’t you and I have some fun?” he whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened at his words and the meaning behind them, and she started to struggle anew. He simply laughed and carried on like he was carrying a child throwing a temper tantrum.

The young woman truly thought she was lost, but there was a commotion behind them followed by screams. When his hold faltered, she struck like a cobra and drove the knife into his thigh. He screamed and flung her away from him as her body careened through the air before hitting the wall. Bianca was dazed from the hit and lay in a heap on the floor for several seconds. The giant man tried to come after her but staggered to a stop as his hand went to his face. He shook his head as if trying to wake up, but his limbs felt weighed down and soon dropped to his knees. His eyes lifted toward Bianca who was watching him with bleary cobalt eyes, and his own eyes rolled into the back of his head before collapsing.

Bianca’s head was spinning from having hit it, but she had to get up and struggled to her feet. She had managed to right herself when the man was at her side with a steadying hand at her elbow. “I’m alright,” she panted.

The doctor glanced at the dead soldier, which had died within seconds of being stabbed with a poisoned dagger. His hand twitched at his side at remembering she had finished another batch of poison. She hadn’t given him yet because she had been busy with the courtesans, and his patients had piled up since he didn’t have Bianca to help him. “Get your things. We are leaving in one minute.” He slipped away, disappearing into the darkness and never igniting a single lamp. Bianca had already hastily packed her bag when the soldiers had left her room earlier, and now lit a lantern and started to check over the corpse. From what she could see, there was no change in the skin, and the pupils were normal as well. However, when she came to the mouth is where she found the evidence. There were white spots on the roof of the mouth that were not normal.

Bianca heard the man returning, but it was the clinking of the bottles of medicines that alerted her and not his steps. She scrambled away from the man and went into her room to get her own two bags. One was her clothing and the other was her own medicines and poisons. As they left the house, they disappeared into the darkened streets of Roma. Bianca didn’t know what they had wanted with them, but she _did_ know that they could never return here.

~o~

_1500_

The eighteen year old woman paced back and forth in the ruins of the building, in her hand the syringe that she had found next to Gabriele’s body, and in her mind a hundred questions that she was afraid to ask. However, she knew that she had to ask them, because her friend was _dead_. She needed to know.

Bianca found her uncle at his stand and saw that he had just sold a vial of medicine. She waited until the man had left to approach, the man turning immediately in her direction to indicate that he had seen her right away. “Shouldn’t you be at the Rosa in Fiore?” he asked her. Indeed, she should be there right now, but this was a more pressing matter.

Rather than answer him, she lifted the syringe that still had the remaining poison inside of it. “I found this next to the corpse of a friend of mine,” she stated bluntly. She watched the movement of his body to see if he tensed or shifted nervously, but the man was unflinching. “Who are you selling my poison to?”

The man finally moved, striding toward her and taking the object in her hand. His head lowered as he seemed to study it as well as the liquid that remained inside. “How are you so certain that this is your poison?” He twirled it in his hand with a familiarity that chilled her. “This is a basic instrument used by a doctor, and the liquid inside could be any manner of medicine or poison.”

Bianca faltered at his words, opening her mouth to speak but not knowing what to say. He had a point about the syringe and the liquid. Besides, she hadn’t had any time to check over the body before she had to flee lest she get blamed, and thus didn’t know if she had the spots on the roof of her mouth.

The girl shuffled nervously as his head lifted and she knew he was looking right at her. “I will test it to make sure, but you can rest assured that it is not yours.” His leather gloves creaked as they tightened on the instrument before he turned away from her. Bianca wanted to take it back and do her own tests, because she was the best person to do it since she was the creator of the poison. However, her courage dissolved as he turned sharply toward her and she swallowed nervously. “Shouldn’t you be on your way?”

She nodded hastily as she stepped back. “Uh, yes, I should be going now.” Bianca bowed her head toward him before fleeing from the square back toward the Rosa in Fiore. As she went she was filled with doubt and wondered how she could have ever thought that her uncle would willingly sell the poison to someone that would hurt another. 

When Bianca arrived at the brothel and was told of her raven-haired friend’s death, her near collapse was not faked because she felt she’d failed Gabriele.

~o~

_1501_

The second death happened many months after the first, however, it was certainly not from lack of trying. Bianca had heard that there was a man lurking outside the Rosa in Fiore that was harassing, and at times, injuring them. She had been forced to go there more often than the once a week as she’d been doing before. Mina had been the one that informed her that the second victim was Cristina, who had been found murdered in the back courtyard. At first they believed it to be the same man that had attacked her, but they quickly learned that he was in a prison in Venezia. Also, Joanna had seen a glimpse of the culprit, and had described a distinct doctor’s black leather smock. The news had filled her with a sickening feeling of dread, and it gnawed at her insides until she was finally driven to where she stood now.

Her cobalt eyes stared down at the sheet that covered Cristina’s corpse, but she made no more to pull it back as her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides. The young woman was in denial; _knew_ she was in denial, but even so Bianca couldn’t quite make her hand move. She had come with the excuse that she wanted to pay her respects, but she wasn’t doing that either. Soon, rigor mortis would set in, but not even that thought moved her. The thing that finally made her hands reach out and open Cristina’s mouth was the fact that the girls’ life had once been in her hands. Bianca had saved her life, and someone had extinguished it, and there were no answers. She had to know despite what answer she got.

The lamp was pulled closer to better see inside her mouth, which had already started to emit an unpleasant odor. When she finally saw the white spots, Bianca dropped the lantern as she staggered back. The sound of the glass breaking brought unwanted attention of her blonde friend. “Bianca, what has happened? Is everything alright?”

Bianca glanced at the nineteen year old courtesan, and the anguish must have been as plain as day on her face for Mina went immediately to her side. “Oh Bianca,” she gasped, arms going around her in a comforting embrace. The ebony haired woman cringed away from her touch as Mina gave her a wounded look. “What’s the matter?”

Her heart was heavy and afflicted with grief that she couldn’t speak. Bianca glanced at Cristina’s pale face and then back to Mina’s rosy cheeks. “I h-have to go,” she choked. Before the other could speak, Bianca turned to flee the room, and ignored Mina’s urgent calls.

~o~

Bianca arrived at their house when the sun was highest in the sky, but soon discovered that it was empty. She hurried further into the house and without hesitation shoved past the door of her uncle’s room. “Zio! Are you here? I need to speak with you!” There was no answer but despite this searched even the restroom, but found no one. Bianca carded slender fingers through her hair and loosened the pins so cascaded down her back. She was about to leave the room when something on the nightstand caught her eye; her uncle’s ledger.

There was no hesitation this time, and especially not after what she had discovered as she strode forward and picked it up. The first few pages were nothing more than notes on patients, but as she went further on she read things that made her sick.

_‘April 11, 1500_

_Bianca is working with the whores today. Initially, I allowed this fancy of hers to further her skills, but it has proved worrisome. She accidentally discovered the syringe besides that puttana’s body, and has started asking questions. It’s unclear how long I can keep her in the dark, and my latest indulgence isn’t helping matters either. However, I simply couldn’t refuse this time, since that whore’s hair was almost exactly the same as my angels’. It’s my wish to run my hands through hers the way I did that filthy troia’s hair, but it’s not the same._

_The smell and feel of her skin was too different, and the small whimpers were not the same as she makes while she sleeps. For me the differences were too great that I simply couldn’t stay my hand. I intended only for her to sleep, but the pinprick of the needle caused her to react violently. When I threw her against the wall, I didn’t expect her head to crack open like a melon. She was much too fragile, and nothing in comparison to my angel; to my Bianca.’_

Bianca’s labored breathing was the only thing that was heard for several moments before she jerked away from the ledger as if it had scalded her. Her stomach heaved at remembering the words she had read there before she promptly emptied her stomach on the floor. When she had thrown up everything and only bile and stomach acid came up, and tears were running down her face did she straighten. “Mio dio, no,” she sobbed, stumbling out of the room.

She was moving out of the house without even cleaning herself up and looked like a mad woman, but she didn’t care. Bianca was determined to find her uncle before the day was over.

Bianca was almost to the area where the doctor’s stand was located at when she noticed a bloody trail leading into the alley. She couldn’t tear her eyes from it and unconsciously her feet led her down the dark alleyway, until finally she came upon a sight that broke her heart in two. “M-Mina?” she sobbed, interrupting the weeping woman at her side. The blonde woman was collapsed against a crumpled wall of what remained of a building, and the smear of blood lead down to where her caved in skull was resting. Mina looked like a broken doll, and Bianca knew who had done this.

“What are you doing here?!” Joanna demanded angrily. She stood from where she had been crying over her friend’s body; Bianca’s friend as well. “This is what you both planned, isn’t it? You came and tricked us all with your big, innocent eyes and then let loose the monstro into our midst! You killed Gabriele, Cristina and Mina as surely as your uncle, Malfatto!”

A tear slid down her cheek as she only stared at her friend’s bloodied face. She had done this, because as she had healed their wounds and tried to help, she had really been leading them into danger. Bianca had killed her friends as surely as if she had held the syringe herself. Her hand slid down to the daggers at her waist and unsheathed one as Joanna stilled in fear. “You don’t need to worry about the monster waiting in the shadows anymore,” she whispered, as more tears slid down her face. “I will personally end his reign of terror.” Without another word, she ran in the direction of her uncle’s stand.

She found him standing where she knew he would be, the dagger still clenched in a white knuckled grip. His head lifted toward her and this time saw him stiffen at seeing the weapon in her hand, and the grief on her face. In that instant, he realized that she _knew_. “So, have you come to kill me?” He made no move to run or withdraw a weapon of his own.

Bianca screamed as she lunged at him, slashing at him with a frantic fervor that he dodged again and again. He didn’t try to attack her once, but she didn’t stop her assault on him. She wanted him _dead_.

During a swing, he caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. She could feel his body at her back and his mask pressed against the back of her throat. “Did you really think you could harm me, Bianca?” he whispered, his hot breath warming the material of his face covering against her skin. “Is that whore more important to you, that you’d kill your beloved uncle?”

The young woman grunted as she struggled to throw him off, but his hold was tenacious. “You’re no kin to me, figlio di puttana!” she spat. She cried out as his fingers bit viciously into her wrist. “You sick fucker! Are you going to kill me as well?” He chuckled and the sound reverberated against her neck and sent a shudder of horror throughout her body. While she felt his hand move across her flat belly, she was slowly and discreetly pulling out a needle that she had hidden on the bracelet of her free wrist.

When he moved to rip open her shirt, she moved and drove the needle as hard as she could through his gloved hand. The man yelped in pain to show that it had hit its mark, and he threw her away from him. She crashed against the stand and crumpled in a dazed heap. As she tried to get her bearings, she heard her uncle shout and start to run off. She pulled herself up to see what was happening, and was in time to see a slender figure in black attire launch herself at her faltering uncle and drive a blade at her wrist into his throat. Bianca knew that had he not been poisoned by her seconds earlier, they would not have had a chance to catch and kill him.

A male figure in matching black robes appeared in Bianca’s line of vision as he peered down at her. “Are you alright?” He glanced at Malfatto’s downed figure and then the young woman who was a moment ago collapsed against the doctor’s stand. “Do you know that man?” She saw his hand move toward the sword at his side and Bianca struck first, using a dagger she’d pulled from her boot to slash at him. It only nicked the back of his hand as he jumped away, but it was all that was needed, and in minutes it would take effect. Already she saw him stagger back before he collapsed as he lost feeling in his arms and legs first, and soon he’d be paralyzed. It would eventually wear off, but would serve to give her time to flee.

She heard a shout but ignored it as she dashed around the corner and out into the crowded streets. The female in black was chasing her, but soon she managed to lose her tail within the market. Bianca knew how to move like water through a crowd, become one with it and seemingly disappear. This is what she did, and soon the young woman following her had lost sight of her while Bianca stuck to the alleyway until she was far away from there. Now, Bianca needed to get home and pack what she could, and then she would leave Roma. At the moment, the only place she could run to was back to Venezia, even when there was nothing for her there. However, it was better than remaining here and being hunted down for the sins committed by Malfatto.-


	15. Augusto's Persephone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so long that I had to cut it in half. I still haven’t finished on it, which means I’m still writing. The next one might not be as long, but there was no good place to cut it before where I cut it now. Oh well.

**Chapter Fifteen:** _Augusto’s Persephone_

_March, 1499_

Augusto paused at the door and hesitated before finally knocking, and all he heard was only a shuffling sound. He had known there wouldn’t be an answer; however, he preferred to announce his presence before entering. He tried the latch and pushed it open, and as he did, Augusto saw her at the window while one hand moved absently over her stomach. It had been almost five months since she’d been attacked in the stable, and during that time she had hardly spoken and would only eat when coaxed to do so.

Fabiola had started to get sick, and they’d taken her to see a doctor. He had diagnosed what they had feared, which is that Fabiola was pregnant by her attacker. “Mio dio, no,” she had whimpered, and then spoke no more. She had retreated into herself and at times she didn’t seem to see even him. Augusto despaired at seeing her in such a state and being helpless on how to bring her out of the perpetual haze she was lost in. He knew she was still in there somewhere, since she had silently defended him one day.

Their father hadn’t understood why the metalwork he did was coming out like a novice’s failed attempt. Eventually, he had to stop pretending that it was grief over his sister’s attack that made the swords and daggers come out poorly made. Augusto told him that it was Fabiola who had crafted every work of art that was sold and in high demand at the market, and _he_ was the one that painted in his sister’s place.

The man had beaten him until he was near unconsciousness. When he couldn’t see out of one eye, or speak without slurring his words his father had suddenly stopped. It had taken him a moment to realize the door to Augusto’s studio had opened and when he glanced over it was to see Fabiola. She was only wearing her night dress, but she didn’t even seem to realize it as she walked over to her fallen brother’s side and wrapped her arms around him like a mother protecting her child. She had stared up at her father with her big, light brown eyes, and his father’s resolve had crumpled. While his father was being overcome with her doe eyes, Augusto could feel the swell of her belly against his chest where life was growing. He had sworn then that he would protect her and that child with everything he had.

Augusto approached her and took her by the hand to lead her to her bed, and while he set the tray he was balancing on the nightstand, he helped her slip under the covers. He brought the tray over then, sitting on the chair that had an almost permanent position next to the bed. Augusto placed the tray with breakfast on her lap and gently coaxed her to eat by herself. The young man was overjoyed when she finally lifted the spoon to bring the soup to her mouth, and quickly lifted the napkin to clean her when she didn’t notice that some broth dribbled down her chin. As she continued to eat herself, there was loud knocking at the door, making Fabiola flinch. Augusto cursed under his breath when she dropped the spoon with a clatter as her hands started shaking.

“Who is it?” he demanded, knowing it wasn’t either his father or Caterina, because they knew not to knock so hard as to startle Fabiola. He carded his fingers through the strands of her light brown hair to calm her down, but it didn’t seem to be working as he heard the door open behind him. Augusto turned a glare on the figure standing there, and the fact that it was Ginevra made no difference to him as she paused uncertainly in the doorway. “What are you doing up here?”

He never let anyone come up the stairs and neither did their father, so that meant she had snuck up here looking for him after his father had most likely left her with instructions to wait in the studio. “Your father-”

“Would have left you in the studio, and never allowed you to come up here,” he said, cutting off whatever she would have said otherwise. Augusto turned his back on her to whisper a soothing word to Fabiola, but her labored breathing continued as her heartbeat hitched into a frenzied pace. If the young man were paying more attention, he’d have seen Fabiola’s eyes fixed over his shoulder as she stared at Ginevra, who glared darkly at her while Augusto fawned over his twin sister.

The shorter girl had truly believed that having Ottavio take her virtue would make Augusto see the filth of her sin. However, it hadn’t worked out as she had planned, since the stupid horse had completely shut down so Augusto had come looking for her. Now he knew she’d been raped, and thus her plan had failed. Ginevra wanted to make it seem as if Fabiola had been a willing participant; a puttana. Then to top it all off, she had gotten pregnant and it presented a problem.

Ottavio had found out she was with child and shocked them all by stating that he wanted to marry the giant! By that point Ottavio was an inch over six feet, but Fabiola was still taller than Ginevra! Besides, she had always thought the dark-haired young man fancied her, and the only reason he’d volunteered to rape Fabiola was to please Ginevra. So, her hatred for Fabiola was growing more every time she came over and Augusto was too busy to see her, or Ottavio asked her about Fabiola’s and the baby’s health.

Ginevra stormed out of the room, slamming the door as Fabiola cringed and tried to curl into a ball under the covers. “It’s alright,” Augusto murmured as he gently caressed her face. “It’s just you and I, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

He grinned as her eyes focused on him after what seemed to be months of her staring into space. Although, the smile slid off his face as she opened her mouth to speak after so much silence on her part. “He’ll come for me again, and you won’t be able to see him.” Her eyes pierced the depths of his soul as a melancholy smile curled her lips.

“What do you mean? Do you know who attacked you, Fabiola?” He despaired at seeing her caramel eyes start to glaze over again, and knew that she had become lost to him once more. “No, please don’t do this again. Talk to me! Tell me who hurt you,” he pleaded desperately as he gave her shoulders a slight shake. She made a distressed sound and shrunk away from him, and Augusto immediately regretted his actions. “I’m sorry, cuore dolce,” he whispered, forgetting that she hated being called sweetheart. However, his familiar voice seemed to give her comfort and leaned forward to rest against him. Augusto wrapped his arms around her in an embrace and started to hum the lullaby their mother had sung to them as children. The whole time he was singing to her and until she fell asleep, her words continued to haunt him.

_‘...you won’t be able to see him.’_

~o~

At the window is where Augusto would sit her every morning when she woke up, and there she stayed until the day turned to afternoon. She could see the road from there and people moving along; living their lives. In the morning, at high noon, and then just before sundown her brother would bring her a tray of food, and at times he’d encourage to eat on her own. Fabiola didn’t want to eat or even think of food, but his face; that face she loved so much, would get so sad, so she ate what he brought her. She always tried to refrain from doing things that upset him, so she never spoke.

Fabiola had tried speaking once, but her words had distressed him so that she had shoved them down so deep inside herself. However, when she did that, pushing down all the hate, fear, and pain, she got a little lost. Then she wondered if it was better like that, and she’d allow herself to drift just on the edge of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of things happening outside her own world, but mostly they weren’t enough to ground her to reality. And as she drifted loud noises startled her so badly, and reminded her of her attack.

However, today was a different day though, and she was aware enough to realize that Caterina was dressing her in street clothes. She hadn’t worn a dress in a long time, and her old ones wouldn’t fit her anymore, so that means someone had bought these for her. Fabiola didn’t linger on this thought for more than a few seconds before it slipped away much like sand through her fingers. When she became conscious of her surroundings again, it was to realize that she was riding in the back of their cart. The hay had been covered by a quilt, and she was curled against Caterina’s side in the same manner she use to do when she was a child.

When she dared lift her head, her eyes moved to observe the world around her and which for a long time she had only seen through the window of her room. It was only Augusto and the maid whose presence and touch she didn’t instinctively shy away from, and on occasion her father. The only reason being was that he had a booming voice, and at times he didn’t always control it.

“It’s alright, tesoro,” the older woman muttered as Augusto glanced back at them from the driver’s seat. “We need to have the doctor give you a check-up, and to see if the baby is doing fine.” Her warm hand settled over her distended belly, and Fabiola calmed as she sank back against Caterina’s warm, soft body.

She was watching the clouds as her thoughts wandered, and she didn’t know that they had arrived as her brother got off to help Caterina first and then her. Fabiola felt a sensation of pins and needles all over her body, and clutched at her brother’s hand. “You’re alright,” he reassured her, and she trusted him completely so she followed him inside the building. The white beak-like mask sent a chill through her, but her brother’s large hand covered her own, so she was fine. 

When he tried to pull away, she held on tighter so he wouldn’t let go, and when he tried to pry her fingers off did she finally turn to look right at him. Augusto was red in the face, and Fabiola’s head tilted curiously at such a display. “Fabiola, I can’t be here with you while the doctor checks you over.” When she merely stared at him he turned even redder. “Caterina can stay with you,” he stressed. Fabiola blinked before turning away from him, but finally released his hand. He may have sighed, but she was lost within her mind once more so she wasn’t sure of too much right at that moment. The thing that did register as starkly as a light in the darkness was the unfamiliar hands that started to remove her clothes, and she stiffened.

_‘Now, you’re finally going to be mine.’_

Her mind transported her back to that time and she remembered the feel of Ottavio’s large hands on her, and she was screaming all of a sudden. Fabiola was vaguely aware of Augusto and Caterina’s voices as they tried to calm her down. Fabiola’s mind couldn’t process what they were saying, and all she knew was the fear.

It was a long time later; or perhaps minutes later, that she became aware of her surroundings, and she was being hustled inside the house by Caterina and up the stairs. Her throat was sore and the collar of her dress and sleeve was torn. Fabiola could hear arguing somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t make out the words and only knew for certain that it was Augusto and their father. “She became scared and started screaming! Of course I got her out of there!” her brother was yelling.

“She’s always getting scared of everything, and now we had to pay the doctor for all the trouble and she didn’t even get the check-up!” That was her father’s booming voice, which made her flinch. “You should have calmed her bout of hysteria instead of whisking her away like some damn maiden in distress!”

That was as far as she heard before Caterina lead her into the room. When the woman had changed her dress, she left her alone to try and calm the fight between her brother and father, and once she was gone Fabiola took a good look around her changed room. The bed was unmade and a vague memory came to her that Caterina didn’t make it anymore since Fabiola spent so much time in it. Also, in the corner was a piece of cloth on the floor to protect it, and on top was a canvas along with a palette where her brother worked. She required his presence in order to abate the fear. In another corner was a cot with a pillow and blanket where Caterina now slept, because Fabiola constantly had nightmares and had to be there to calm her down. As she saw all this, she could only come to the conclusion; she was nothing but a burden to the people she loved.

The next decision she didn’t even remember making, and she was outside walking as the afternoon light washed over her. There were people on the road, but she paid them no mind as long as they didn’t get too close. However, there was just too much noise for her to be comfortable, and she flinched and cringed away from any loud noises. So, soon she was huddled within an alleyway with her hands over her ears.

Fabiola cowered against the damp, dirty wall as her fingers pressed against her ears, and she felt large, warm hands settle over her own smaller ones. The young woman thought it was her brother which had come to find her; however, when she lifted her tear-stained face she was met with fierce black eyes peering out from under a helmet. Fabiola’s light brown eyes widened in horror at realizing that she recognized his features; it was Ottavio.

A terror greater than even when she was raped gripped her as she stared up at her tormentor, because now she wasn’t the only one he would hurt. Her mind was on the life that was growing inside of her, and how injuring Fabiola would put her child in danger. So, when Ottavio’s hands moved from on top of hers, she scrambled away from him, but there was nowhere to go in this dead-end alley. If she wasn’t pregnant she would have tried her luck in scaling the walls if necessary. So, she was left cowering from him in the corner as he removed his helmet and straightened.

Ottavio advanced on her like a predator about to devour its prey, and her arms wrapped protectively over her stomach. As she did his gaze followed her movement, and she witnessed impossibly as his eyes softened as they landed on her swollen belly. He kneeled on the ground before her and as he reached for her, she opened her mouth to scream. His hand was suddenly forcing her to swallow the sound and at the same time push her more firmly into the corner. Fabiola flailed against him as Ottavio loomed over her smaller frame, but he was unmovable as he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. His ebony orbs pierced hers and tears gathered in her caramel-colored eyes when she felt his free hand slide over her stomach.

“This is my son,” he growled possessively. The fingers of his right hand had been clamped firmly over her mouth and almost around her whole jaw, and now loosened. “Don’t scream or I’ll hurt you,” he warned before finally releasing her, but the hand on her belly stayed where it was. Fabiola tried to squirm away, but his right hand found purchase at the back of her neck and jerked her forward.

His mouth smashing down over hers caused her disgust and felt her stomach heave in revulsion, and started to fight to push him away. Ottavio’s tongue pressed against her clamped lips, but she refused to open her mouth and give into him. As if he expected this, his hand tightened threatening over her stomach, and when she gasped in shock his tongue plunged inside.

By that point her grunts of protest had morphed into full-out sobbing as she fought as best as she could. His mouth moved away from hers and started to kiss at her throat, sucking at her pulse point. Fabiola’s wept harder when the hand at her stomach slid under her skirts, and when his fingers brushed at that spot between her legs she couldn’t hold in her scream any longer. His teeth bit down harshly at her neck as Fabiola’s scream cut off into a whimper of pain.

It was as she was giving up hope of escaping that she suddenly felt his weight leave her, and she was left panting against the wall. Fabiola slowly opened her eyes to see a broad shouldered man standing between her and a downed Ottavio. The man wore the armor of a Roma guard, but was clearly the rank of Captain.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, soldier?” he demanded angrily. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but the sharpness of his voice made Fabiola tremble.

Ottavio’s helmet had been knocked aside, but the man didn’t make a move to recover it as he angrily got to his feet. He cast a trembling Fabiola one last look before running out of the alleyway. Only when he had gone was the young woman truly able to breathe easier, or at least until her savior turned to look at her. She flinched when he took a step toward her and he immediately stilled. “It’s alright,” he reassured, and he sounded so alike to her brother that she started to cry once again. “Do not cry, piccola. You’re safe now.” 

“Augusto,” she sobbed. She wished her brother was here with her, and she wondered why she’d been foolish enough to run away. It was only with Augusto and Caterina that she felt truly safe, and now she was here in this dirty alleyway having to be saved by a stranger that she wasn’t sure she could trust.

Fabiola didn’t realize he’d moved until he knelt beside her and she shrunk away from him with a distressed sound. “I’m not going to hurt you, ragazza carina,” he promised. “Just let me...” His hand moved very slowly to the skirts of her dress which were bunched at her waist, but he only managed to bring down two of the bottom skirts before she protested so he had to pull away. Fabiola was staring at him with wide frightened eyes, and the Captain was mesmerized by their honey hue.

Although, the young Captain wanted to castrate the soldier that was obviously trying to rape her, he could see the attraction, since the young woman was stunning even with her disheveled hair falling in her tear-stained face. Also, there was something almost familiar about her, but couldn’t quite figure out what. However, he quickly smiled reassuringly at her when she looked warily up at him. “I’m Matteo. What’s your name, cuore dolce?” He wanted to reach out and help her, but knew that she wouldn’t like to be touched.

Fabiola watched her savior suspiciously as he tried to get near her slowly and she contemplated running away from him, but there was nowhere for her to go. There was a building at her back and he was blocking her only escape route. She could try pushing him down, but she doubted she had the strength to knock him over. “Can you stand up?” he asked, holding out his hand. She felt she had no choice as she accepted his hand even as fear coiled in her gut.

When the girl was finally on her feet, she was able to meet his blue-green eyes that were peering at her from under his Captain’s helmet. Suddenly, Fabiola knew who he was as she watched him, and tried to open her mouth again to say something but nothing would come out. He was that soldier that had helped her once when she was being tormented by Ginevra and the rest of her brother’s friends. 

As she stood Matteo noticed her swollen belly, which the rest of her skirts had hidden from view and could only stare at it for a moment. “You’re with child?” His face twisted in anger at realizing that bastard had tried to rape a _pregnant_ woman. “And that figlio di puttana tried to rape you?” She shrank away from his angry face, but the hold on her hand was tenacious. “Who was this man? Did you know him?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came tumbling out was the pain. Matteo jerked away as she started screaming and hastily released her hand lest someone think _he_ was the one that had tried to hurt her. He heard a shout a moment before he was tackled away from her, landing on the ground with a grunt of pain. “Figlio di puttana!” the same voice cursed at him as a fist connected with his head, since his helmet had flown off when he was tackled. 

“Get off me, stronzo,” he growled as they rolled on the filthy ground. Finally, he was able to shove him off, and Matteo swept the youth’s feet from under him so he could straighten first. Matteo drew his sword to which he placed at the boy’s throat from where he kneeled at the soldier’s feet, and he saw that he couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. “Did your parents teach you to attack armed guards, ragazzo?”

The young man scowled angrily up at him. “My father taught me to protect my sister from animals like you,” he snarled. He withdrew a dagger to knock the sword away so he could lunge at him, but the Captain anticipated it as he kicked him down by sharply planting a booted foot to his shoulder and slashed at his face. The boy yelped as the tip of his sword managed to cut across his left eyebrow.

Matteo stumbled to the side as he was suddenly shoved, and the young woman was suddenly at the boy’s side. “Augusto,” she whimpered, wrapping her arms around him even as ‘Augusto’ tried to push her back.

The Captain sighed as he sheathed his sword much to Augusto’s confusion. “So, this is the Augusto you were crying for; your brother.” The youth had obviously thought Matteo was hurting his sister. “I may be many things, but a rapist is not one of them, ragazzo,” he directed at Augusto. “When I came upon your sister, she was being attacked by a low-ranking soldier.” He saw him open his mouth, but Matteo shook his head. “I do not know who he was, since he was not under my command. He was about my height, and a year or two older than you both. Also, he had a scar here,” Matteo demonstrated by running a finger from his left temple, and down to his jaw. “It was a bit dim in the alley, but I’m sure he had black hair and eyes.” He saw Augusto’s eyes widen in shock before his face drained of color so he became pale. “What’s the matter? Do you know who that is?”

Augusto ignored the Captain and turned to Fabiola, which had sat down on the ground beside him while she fussed with the cut as she tried to stop the bleeding. He lifted her face so he could meet her gaze, and was relieved when her eyes focused immediately on him. “Fabiola,” she hesitated a moment before surging through. “Is the one that hurt you...was it Ottavio?” The stiffening of her body was all the answer he needed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She could only look at him mournfully, her caramel eyes filling with tears. Fabiola’s mouth opened and closed, but only a half-choked sob escaped her.

“Please don’t do this,” he pleaded with her. “Say something to me!” Augusto felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to glare at Matteo for daring to interrupt this moment with his sister.

“Peace,” he stated, removing his hand at seeing his angry look. “Just give her time, and she’ll eventually speak. Be patient with her.” Augusto was agog of how alike his words were to the doctor’s helper, and the words she had said after Fabiola was raped. Now, Augusto took a deep breath and clamed himself. He truly didn’t want to pressure her into speaking until she was ready, but he was desperate to protect her from Ottavio if he’s the one that had raped his sister. However, he knew of another way to get information, but first he needed to get Fabiola home.

“Thank you for your aid, but I must get Fabiola home.” He helped her to stand, and then slowly walked her to the cart while the Captain watched them leave. As he saw them leaving, her long ebony hair swished behind her as it curled slightly at the ends, and the afternoon sunlight glinted off the strands. It was in that moment that realization struck him like lightning, and he knew who she was then. He snatched up his helmet and hurried after them, so when they got to the cart, Matteo was there to assist him.

Augusto clenched his teeth in irritation, but didn’t say anything because Fabiola didn’t seem to be afraid of him. This cemented what Matteo had said that he had saved her from being raped. Although, the thing he couldn’t understand was why his supposed friend had done this to Fabiola. Even so, he would get answers, and then he would kill Ottavio with his bare hands.

After settling his sister on top of the quilt he had draped over the hay, he turned to thank the Captain, and paused at noticing him sitting up on the driver’s seat and a horse tied at the end of the cart. “What are you doing?” he demanded angrily, glancing warily as the stallion snorted at him in agitation.

Matteo smiled grimly at him. “This man, Ottavio, is a low-ranked soldier, but he could still have the support of his comrades to help him take Fabiola from you.” Augusto’s hands clenched at his side at how familiar he was being with his sister. Although, he _had_ protected her from Ottavio, but that didn’t mean he trusted him. Even so, his words made sense, and if only for that reason, it was good that he was accompanying them; no matter what his reasons were. Augusto wondered how he was going to explain his presence to their father, even when he was angry with him at the moment.

After Caterina had broken up their arguing, she had gone upstairs, and the young man had contemplated going into his studio to work on a painting when he was interrupted by a scream from upstairs. He’d taken the stairs two at a time and hurried the last door at the end of the hall, which was Fabiola’s room. When he didn’t see her in the room, there was no need for Caterina to tell him what had happened.

The disturbed girl would never have gone outside unless something drastic happened. So, the only conclusion he could come up with was that she had been lucid when their father had said those words in anger. Obviously, Augusto knew he hadn’t meant them and was only frustrated, but that still hadn’t stopped him from driving his fist into his jaw.

Augusto climbed up beside Matteo with a leery stare. “What’s your name?” he asked, taking up the reigns and urging the horse into a steady trot. He was hesitant to let this man know where they lived, but finally decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The Captain held out a hand, bare of gloves or the gauntlets other guards wore as part of their uniforms. “I’m Matteo da Vigo, and you are Augusto.” It wasn’t a question, so Augusto didn’t bother to give an answer as he shook his hand. He turned his eyes back to the road, since he didn’t want to trample a pedestrian. “So, what is it you do, Messere Augusto?” he asked out of the blue. Augusto turned to give him a baleful stare. “You have a smear of a white substance under your nails, so I was curious.”

The youth frowned and glanced at the nails of his right hand after a moment of hesitation, and sure enough there was white paint from the other day. Augusto had been captivated by his sister as she had stared forlornly out the window, and he had an urge to paint her. After sketching and capturing the heart breaking sadness on her face, it had grown from there with the thought of Pagan lore. That’s how Fabiola’s image had become Persephone as she stared sorrowfully toward Olympus from her imprisonment in the underworld. For Augusto, Fabiola was Persephone and she was lost to him; within her own mind. However, he wouldn’t lose hope because he was sure that one day she would come back to him. He had failed to protect her once, but he wouldn’t let anyone else harm her. “I’m a painter.”

Matteo smirked, and Augusto felt his hackles rise defensively. “Tell me, painter, do you have the ability to protect your sister?” The adolescent hissed at him, but Matteo couldn’t be bothered to be worried. “If not, then I could teach you a few things.” That’s when Matteo finally broke the steady eye contact they had going to glance back at Fabiola, who was huddled in the corner of the cart right behind Augusto. “Perhaps teach your sister how to defend herself as well.”

“No,” Augusto immediately snapped. Her mind was already fragile as it was, and didn’t want to make things worse. “She has me to protect her.”

This time Matteo’s smirk wasn’t playful or lazy, but sharp, taunting, and almost cruel. “You’re not omniscient, painter. There may come a day when you won’t be there, and the wolves will be ready to pounce and tear at her tender flesh.” Matteo’s grin was feral, and for a moment thought he was one of those wolves he was talking about. Then his expression softened as he turned back to look at Fabiola once more. The man seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes off his sister, and that had Augusto on edge.

“What do you want with Fabiola?” he demanded. By that point the conversation had taken his entire attention, so he was unable to continue forward, and lead the horse off the main road before coming to a complete stop. “Why do you help us; help her?”

Matteo’s gaze snapped back to him, blue-green eyes narrowing for a moment in contemplation on his face. “I know your sister,” he told him easily. “When I was a low-rank soldier, my patrol came across several kids beating up on a girl about the same age. The others gave chase to the little criminals, and I was instructed to check the girl for injuries.” He smiled fondly at the memory even as Augusto was filled with dread. “Her hair was the blackest ebony I had ever seen, but its beauty was marred by the hay and dirt that clung to the strands.”

_‘What happened, Fabiola? Why is there hay and dirt on your clothes and hair? Where is the food?’_

_‘I-I am sorry, papa. There was...I mean, I tripped and dropped the food.’_

_‘You stupid, clumsy girl!’_

Augusto raised a shaking hand to his mouth as his stomach roiled in nausea, and Matteo continued to speak of his encounter without noticing the youth’s realization. “It was falling into her dirty face, but through the matted hair I could make out honey-colored eyes and cherubic features.” Matteo chuckled as he turned away with a hand covering his mouth to cover embarrassment.

“She couldn’t have been more than thirteen at the time, while I was seventeen, but I may have fallen in love at first sight.” He sighed as he continued to look away, having leaned back with his left arm draped behind Augusto’s back, and the other dangling over the edge. “Then she ran off with her half-empty basket, and I never saw her again; until today.” Matteo grinned, but there was nothing of the ferocious intensity of before and Augusto might dare to say there was mischief in his eyes. Although, Augusto wouldn’t forget that he could still exude danger, and thus be a threat. “So, now I’m just ensuring that I don’t lose sight of her again.”

The youth was torn as he battled the instinctive part of himself that wanted to get this man far away from his sister, and the sensible side that knew Matteo had the ability to show him how to defend himself and Fabiola. The more important part being, that he could teach Fabiola how to protect herself. In the end, the latter won, but the former would not be silenced. “I will accept the offer to teach us the skills you possess; however, I will cut your throat if you hurt my sister.”

Matteo’s lips lifted into that alarming grin again, which was all teeth and none of the gentleness he had observed before while regarding his sister. “I can respect that, but let me say this. I’m attracted to Fabiola, and no amount of empty threats will change that. So, tell me again when you can defeat me in combat. Until then, I reserve the right to ask her father permission to court her.”

Augusto resisted the urge to go for his dagger and lunge at him, since he knew as he was now he wouldn’t be able to even scratch Matteo. As Augusto seethed in anger, Matteo’s eyes slid to where his hands were clenched. “Do not fret though, for I would never harm Fabiola.” He jerked his head toward the front. “So, if this conversation is done with, let’s keep moving.”

The younger male snatched up the reigns and then urged the horse back onto the main road once more. Augusto wasn’t happy with this turn of events, but would allow it for the moment. He would learn everything Matteo had to teach him, and then he would make good on his threat.

“The father of the child she’s carrying,” Matteo suddenly spoke, interrupting his thoughts. Augusto glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to pay attention to the road in front of him. “It’s Ottavio, isn’t it?” The white knuckled grip on the reigns said more than words ever could, so Matteo simply nodded. “I understand that you have more right than I, but if I encounter him first, _I’m_ the one that shall kill him.”

Augusto turned to fully face him, and a wicked grin lifted his lips. “We will see who gets to kill the figlio di puttana.”

~o~

_June, 1499_

Fabiola wasn’t sleeping when they came, but it was due to the baby. She had been sleeping soundly when the sound of crying from the corner had her startling awake. The young woman had slipped soundlessly from the bed and padded over to her basinet. He was kicking his chubby legs and waving his small arms around in a fit. His face was red as he took in a deep breath to prepare for a scream, and Fabiola immediately scooped him up. He quieted at once and stared up at her with honey colored doe eyes that were identical to hers, and his ebony strands were the same shade as Ottavio’s hair.

Her breath hitched in her throat as the babe reached out a tiny hand toward her face, and her eyes watered as Fabiola turned her head to kiss the little fingers. Giotto’s mouth opened in a toothless smile before both his hands found purchase against her cheeks. For being a premature baby he was a healthy, growing baby, who was already two months old. He could already open his eyes all the way, laugh and smile, and already tried to lift his head when he was lying down.

As she was breastfeeding him in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, she heard the sharp crack of the front door being kicked open. Fabiola was immediately on her feet with a dagger in hand, which Matteo had insisted she keep on her at all times; the sheath strapped to her right thigh. Her first concern was her son as she gripped him in trembling arms against her chest, rocking him back and forth so he wouldn’t cry. However, Giotto was as quiet as a church mouse, and he seemed to be waiting for something.

The bedroom door was shoved open as it crashed into the wall, and Fabiola was only slightly relieved to see Caterina rush into the room. “Fabiola, there are men inside the house.” If she listened carefully, the young woman could hear the sound of fighting and yelling. Fabiola was worried about her brother and father, who had surely engaged the men and she wanted to help them but the babe in her arms kept her rooted to the spot.

“Fabiola!” Caterina screamed as an unfamiliar figure appeared in the doorway of the room. Giotto’s safety caused her to react with a protective instinct, and the dagger left her hand before it slammed into the man’s chest. He crumpled on the spot as the maid stared in horror at the fact that the young woman had just killed a man without the slightest hesitation. However, Fabiola couldn’t let it get to her, not now, and had to get her son to safety.

Fabiola rushed around getting a bag ready to take with them, while Caterina stood anxiously by the window with the babe in her arms, and Giotto watched everything with an almost curious expression. When she finished packing the bag, she handed it to the maid, but paused as she glanced toward the dead soldier in the doorway. “Fabiola, don’t,” she warned as she noticed her approaching the corpse.

The young woman glanced at her and made a shushing sound and continued on. She quickly raided the man’s pouches, and found several throwing knives, a few fiorini, and two smoke bombs. Fabiola took the whole pouch and secured it at her side, and as she was about to leave, she saw the emblem on the breastplate of a mighty bull with rubies where the eyes should be. She might have continued staring at it if Caterina hadn’t called her name at hearing pounding footsteps coming up the stairs.

Fabiola slid two throwing knives out of the bandolier the man was wearing, and her sharp eyes watched the darkened hallway for any movement. A figure came lumbering up the stairs and around the corner, and she flicked her wrist as the projectile hissed through the air. It found its mark as the soldier collapsed and immediately a pool of blood started to form out from the neck wound that had killed him.

“Let’s go, Fabiola!” Caterina shouted, hearing even more men entering the house. Fabiola despaired at thinking of her brother and father, and although anguish gripped her heart, she could not help them; not now. Fabiola glanced at the baby in Caterina’s arms and her hands clenched into fists before she hurried over to the window. Caterina helped Fabiola climb through the window and out onto the rooftop that was right outside the window, and then handed Giotto to her. Using two shawls tied together, they secured the newborn onto the younger woman’s back before attempting to climb down.

When they were both securely on the ground, the women hurried away from the house, but they hadn’t gone more than twenty feet before they heard shouting behind them. “They’re over this way!” someone shouted, and they hastened the pace. There was shouting and Fabiola knew they were being followed; however, she didn’t dare look back to see how many there were. She hissed in anger when she felt a projectile pass too close to them before the same voice shouted again. “Don’t shoot! The Captain wants the woman and child alive!”

Fabiola felt her blood run cold at his words. _Ottavio._ He was the one that was behind this, since there was no one else.

When it seemed that they’d be caught, salvation came in the form of man astride a black mare. Fabiola’s mouth opened in joy at seeing Matteo quickly followed by the four men under his command. There was the whiz of arrows as the three men that were following the two women dropped like flies, and both Caterina and Fabiola were left panting a few feet away from Matteo and his men. The Captain sent the other four toward the house to help Augusto and Gasparo, while the man quickly dismounted and rushed over to them.

“Are the both of you alright?” he asked, Fabiola throwing herself into his arms in relief. The man seemed stunned for a moment before he tightly wrapped his arms around her waist. “Grazie a Dio you are unharmed.” Giotto took that moment to blow saliva bubbles to announce his presence, and Matteo chuckled and reached up to caress his chubby cheek to which he squealed in delight.

He took the girl’s arm and started to lead her back toward the house as he caught the reins of his horse. By the time they arrived, the rest of the soldiers were dead and Augusto and Gasparo were injured, but nothing too serious. “How did you know this would happen?” Augusto demanded immediately to Matteo. Fabiola could understand his suspicion, since he had shown up unexpectedly to save them. However, the man had just saved her son, Caterina and herself, and she wouldn’t allow him to attack the Captain. She made a hissing sound and stepped in front of Matteo, and Augusto’s eyes snapped toward her and they had a stare down for several moments.

Finally, the youth made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat before striding off to get the cart ready so they could leave. There was no chance in hell they would stay here another night. While they worked on loading all of their belongings the Captain explained that one of his men, Giovanni had heard of movement within Cesare’s personal guard. He had thought it was weird, since Cesare wasn’t in Roma at the moment so he had investigated further. Through one of his informants he’d learned that a newly made Captain was using the guard for his personal use, and then learned that the Captain was none other than Ottavio Farnese. The rest had been easy to figure out, and Giovanni had rushed to tell Matteo.

It was almost dawn when they had loaded everything essential, while leaving what they could afford to leave behind. Caterina was driving the cart with Fabiola while she held a sleeping Giotto in her arms, and Gasparo crammed in the back with their things. Matteo and his men, as well as Augusto rode along beside the cart astride horses with their hands on their swords.

Matteo nudged his black mare forward so he was riding right beside Fabiola’s side. Augusto shot him a dirty look, but said nothing. “I think that once we get you all relocated to a new, safer place, then it’ll be time to start training.”

Fabiola was silent for several seconds as she stared at Giotto’s sleeping face. She had almost lost him today, and live or die, she would do everything in her power to protect her son. Her head lifted and met Matteo’s gaze, and although it hurt her to open her mouth to speak, she felt the need to say it out loud. “Yes, it’s time,” she croaked, her voice scratchy and unused.

Matteo’s eyes widened momentarily at hearing her voice, since it had been many months since the last time he had heard it. His lips pressed into a strained smile as he gave a curt nod. He understood some of the torment that she had suffered not only at the hands of Ottavio, but the rest of Augusto’s former friends, and why she had locked her words deep inside of herself. Even then it pained him that he would never be able to have a simple conversation with her, or ever hear the words ‘I love you’ uttered by that sweet mouth that he wanted so desperately to kiss. The Captain urged his horse into a cantor so he was riding in front of them, catching Augusto’s eye as he went. The youth must have seen something in his face in that moment that he related to or understood, and inclined his head in an almost acknowledging gesture. Matteo for his part turned away, and they continued on to the place that would become Fabiola and her family’s new home.

~o~

_July, 1499_

Augusto winced as Fabiola hit the ground again and knew not to interfere, because the last time she had given him such an angry look, Augusto was surprised he hadn’t spontaneously combusted. Although, nobody –except Fabiola– could blame him for being worried, since she had given birth naught but three months ago and she was already training with them. However, there really was no choice, since it was clear from last months’ kidnapping attempt that Ottavio would stop at nothing to get his hands on his son and Fabiola. Also, she wasn’t completely cured of her trauma, since she would suddenly get lost within her mind when Matteo or Augusto was speaking to her. Sometimes her condition hindered her lessons, but she _had_ improved greatly in the last few months. Augusto wondered how much was due to him finding out about the abuse she had suffered at the hands of his supposed friend, and how much was because of Matteo’s constant presence.

Fabiola had been wary of him at first and he assumed she would be scared of the Captain despite her acceptance of his presence that first time. However, soon she was waddling after him as her stomach continued to grow. Augusto had always had Fabiola’s attention to himself, and he’d taken it for granted, since he always had Ginevra, Leonello, Nucca, Mea, and Ottavio to occupy his time. Now that he’d broken off ties with them all, he was possessive over Fabiola’s time and attention. In turn, Matteo seemed to take great pleasure and amusement whenever Augusto flashed him a heated glare. Augusto didn’t think it was possible to loath someone so much, and was vindicated when Fabiola was placed on complete bed rest for the last month of her pregnancy.

In that time, Matteo had been relentlessly teaching Augusto how to fight, and improving his form in swordplay. Which at times was harder than either could have predicted, but it was because Fabiola was still protective of her brother. So, every time Matteo knocked him down in a spar, she would try to waddle toward him or get in between them. Augusto always felt a smug grin spread across his features whenever it happened, and especially the instance when she had thrown something and it had bounced off the side of Matteo’s face. The man had been irritated, but had otherwise not done anything to harm the girl. Of course, when Augusto finally managed to knock the Captain down for the first time, Fabiola had thrown him a dirty look before making sure Matteo was alright. It had Augusto sulking for the rest of the day.

Now, he had to stand by and watch Matteo knock her down during a spar and not interfere or risk Fabiola’s wrath. She wouldn’t yell or insult him, since his twin sister hadn’t spoken one word since June. That was another reason to loath Matteo, since he was the last one she had spoken to. He knew she was aware of how much it pained him not being able to hear her voice with the occasional helpless look she threw him, but even then she never said a thing. Augusto wondered if she had taken a vow of silence, or if it was simply because the trauma had claimed her voice. Fabiola wouldn’t speak, so he didn’t know and at times wondered if he ever would.

Matteo circled her again, trying to find an opening in her defenses, but they weren’t as obvious as one might think. Even if Fabiola hadn’t been able to train while she was pregnant, didn’t mean she’d been blind. She had watched them closely and jotted it all down in what had to be her journal. Augusto never questioned her about it, or what she wrote in it. It was something she had been doing almost since she’d learned to write, and since then had filled three tomes with her thoughts and whatever else she wrote about. Augusto would be lying if he said he didn’t think of what she wrote, or if Fabiola had written during those months she had been lost within her own psyche.

The youth cheered her on at seeing Matteo being given a run for his money as they switched to swords, and Augusto wasn’t really surprised that she excelled in this. She had spent many years making weapons, and practicing with them to make sure they were up to par. Augusto couldn’t remember how many times he’d walked into the shop to see her sword fighting with an invisible opponent, or having to duck away from a thrown knife.

Also, she had taken up blacksmithing again, and at first their father had been reluctant to allow it as well as both of them training with Matteo. Then Augusto had revealed who was Fabiola’s rapist and that the Captain had stopped Ottavio from defiling her again, and that Ottavio was also the one responsible for them being attacked last month. Shortly after meeting Matteo, he’d given his complete support even when Fabiola decided to start blacksmithing once more. It was an added bonus that he would be able to take on more orders, and thus increase their income.

Of course, nothing was ever easy with the corrupt guards always harassing the hardworking people of Roma, but they had no choice but to persevere. Already all over the city; in every district, shops had been closed and stands destroyed by guards for some reason or another. As the years had passed since Rodrigo Borgia had become Alexander VI, his grip had tightened around the city of Roma. Even their shop had been shut down more than a year ago, so their father could only bring money to the household when their previous frequent clients came to place an order. However, Gasparo had to do it with caution lest the guards find out that he was selling weapons, and discovering where they were. Also, he’d also be accused of conspiring against the church. It was the main reason almost all the Fabbro shops had been closed, since it had been stated that the militia was threatening to rise up in treason. The militia had been dissolved as well.

~o~

_May, 1501_

Fabiola’s eyes popped open as sleep immediately left her and her mind cleared of sleep. She lay in bed for several minutes contemplating her course of action that day. The young woman listened intently to the house around her, but all she heard were the sounds of birds stirring in their nests as they prepared for the coming dawn. In the last two years, she had grown accustomed to this house, but she would always miss the home of her youth. Fabiola had left the only home she had ever known to protect her son. For him, she’d do the impossible; for him, she would be driven to once again commit murder.

The young woman might have been there longer in contemplation but a whimper alerted her that Giotto had woken up. She slipped out of the bed without a whisper of sound, and silently padded over to the crib. Every day that past made it obvious who his father was, since he was the spitting image of Ottavio with the exception of having Fabiola’s honey hued eyes. Despite his uncanny resemblance to his father, Fabiola would never conceive the thought of harming or shunning her son for this. It was quite the contrary, since the two year old was her whole life, because _he_ had given Fabiola her life back by bringing her into awareness. She hadn’t had an episode in almost a year, but her words had not returned since. At times, it just hurt too much to open her mouth and speak.

Fabiola was glad that her brother loved and spoiled his nephew regardless of his resemblance to Ottavio, and that Matteo didn’t shun her son either. If that had been the case, then she would never have ever been able to have a relationship past the instructor and student one they had started off as. Despite her not being particularly loquacious, they got along great and it consisted mostly of Matteo speaking and Fabiola listening. Of course, that also meant that if he wanted to know something of her childhood or anything of that sort, he had to ask Augusto, and the man had already showed his dislike for the whole relationship.

However, they tolerated one another for Fabiola’s sake, but there wasn’t an ounce of affection lost between the two of them. It didn’t help the situation any when Giotto had called Matteo ‘papa’, and Augusto had vehemently denied the statement. Of course, Fabiola hadn’t been too happy with her brother, and had given him the cold shoulder for almost a whole week. Afterwards, Augusto had kept quiet the next time his nephew had called Matteo his father. It wasn’t because he had suddenly realized the soldier was good enough for his sister or that he was Giotto’s father, because he wasn’t. The reason was that he didn’t want Fabiola to pull away from him for any reason. So he kept his opinion to himself.

Giotto was standing up in the crib and staring silently up at his mother, her eyes peering out of Ottavio’s face, but all Fabiola felt for him was an unmeasured love. She lifted him into her arms as he immediately settled into a comfortable position on her hip. The young woman hummed as he moved toward the window and swayed in place. Giotto leaned his small head on her shoulder and looked outside as she did.

The doctor had examined him thoroughly, but could find no reason as to why he couldn’t speak. He silently observed the world around him, as quiet as his mother, and despite his lack of words he was very intelligent. Giotto nudged her with his head with a grunting sound, and Fabiola paused in her humming and glanced at him curiously. He opened his mouth and pointed with his tiny finger at it, and she chuckled and nodded before moving out of the room.

When she entered the kitchen, it was to see that Caterina was already awake, but then she was use to the woman waking before dawn to start baking the bread for breakfast. The woman turned with a smile and held out her arms, and Giotto eagerly went with her and started to make noises which consisted of small grunts and whines. Caterina nodded as if she understood what he was saying, and at times Fabiola wondered if she did. However, she never opened her mouth to ask, and the woman suspected that he never spoke because she didn’t.

The first few months that Giotto had been born, Fabiola was selfish with her son’s care, and even if Caterina would help, she never asked. Of course, this being her first child caused her to make several mistakes, and after the scare of nearly dropping the fussy baby, Fabiola had finally consented to let Caterina help her more. Now, she took care of Giotto as much as Fabiola herself. Then again, Caterina had been the one to feed them, change their diapers, comfort and raise them when their mother had been too sick to do it. Ultimately, she became their mother.

Also, there was the affection that existed between their father and the housemaid. During the days when she had been locked away in her own mind, she’d been aware enough to know that Caterina snuck out of her room and then sneak back just before dawn. The thing she didn’t understand was their reluctance to let the twins know of the relationship, since Fabiola had always thought of the woman as her mother. She was sure that Augusto wouldn’t care either, as long as he wasn’t force to hear any details. This was also the reason the man hadn’t fired Caterina after finding out she knew Fabiola and Augusto had traded with painting and blacksmithing, respectively. 

When she finished making him some oatmeal for his breakfast, she went back to take her son from Caterina and sat him a chair, which was much too large for him. Augusto entered the kitchen when she was almost finished feeding him, and was now drinking his milk from a small cup that she’d fashioned especially from him. The young man grinned at the two year old who immediately left his milk to hold out his arms for his uncle. “You sure are up early today, aren’t you?” he chuckled as he hoisted him up and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek as Gitto giggled at his antics.

As Fabiola passed him to wash out the plate she’d used, he placed a quick peck to her temple. “I’m going to the market to buy some supplies. Would you like to come with me?” Fabiola huffed as she turned to look at him, arms crossed over her bosom. There was an exasperated look on her face, and he could understand since he’d been trying to convince her to leave the house and go into town with him for a while now. It was with good reason, since she hardly went out when it wasn’t to train with Matteo or for blacksmithing. Of course, Augusto could understand her reluctance to leave since she’d have to leave her son with Caterina; however, if she was ever going to get accustomed to being in public, then it had to be this way.

When he finally convinced her with Caterina’s help, and Gitto had been put down for his afternoon nap, they set off to the market in the cart. The shops were mostly closed in their area, so they were forced to travel further into Centro district to an open market. They had to use the doctor in that area, since Ottavio had sent men after the one they had previously used. Augusto had been alarmed to learn this, but mostly due to the dottore’s helper, the young woman that had given him advice that one time. He hadn’t seen her since that incident, and when he had asked the doctor he had cooly replied that her time was occupied elsewhere. Matteo informed him that no harm had come to either of them, and that the good doctor had dispatched the six men that had come for them. Also, that the helper had turned out to be his daughter or niece, or some other relative.

Either way, money was scarce and they could rarely afford to see the doctor. The little money they had was from commissions he managed to sell, and from Matteo. Augusto was loath to admit it, but they greatly depended on the money the man gave them, or they’d surely have starved by now. It was the reason he was no longer against the romance between them; not that it would have made a difference to Fabiola if he had been, but he was adamant about his refusal to allow him to live in the house until he’d married his sister.

Matteo, and consequently his men practically lived at their house during the days. The archer of their group was a young man that was Augusto’s age named Giovanni. Due to his age the other three argued that they were just as good marksmen as him. Giovanni had shut them up at the time by unsheathing his crossbow without warning and firing a round into the sky. A passing bird had been struck dead-center and its carcass landed in between the four men. Neither of them had doubted his skill again.

The other three were Agostino, Domenico, and Lorenzo. Lorenzo favored his twin daggers over a regular sword, and had jokingly named them Augusto and Fabiola. Agostino was Matteo’s second in command and was almost as good as the Captain in hand to hand and swordplay. Domenico had his much beloved axe and would immediately threaten anyone that dared to touch it. The four of them had become enamored by the infant Giotto, and doted on the two year old like a bunch of uncles. They were the few within the ranks that weren’t corrupt, and whom besides the young Giovanni, didn’t have a family of their own.

Regardless, Caterina and Fabiola had opened their new home to them, and all of them besides Giovanni usually ate supper with them. Matteo had one day noticed that his men ate enough for a small army, and start to bring prime pieces of meat, potatoes one day, or two live chicken the next. The other three followed his example, and soon there was no more room in their storage. Although, it never overflowed since all of four; sometimes Giovanni with his wife, were there almost daily. Of course, it was usually only after their shift had ended at mid-day, since they started a few hours before dawn.

This was the reason that Caterina had sent him to the market and to take Fabiola with the excuse that she was missing some ingredients for a pie. The truth was that Caterina didn’t want her to be home when the Sarto came to deliver the dress that Matteo had sent to be made especially for that evening. Augusto had it on good authority that Matteo was going to propose tonight.

When it was close to high noon, both siblings made the trek back to the house with the back of the cart loaded with enough supplies to feed them for a week. It was more than he had told his sister they were going to buy, but the truth of the matter was that they were having a small engagement party and had invited the near-by neighbors. Fabiola wouldn’t be happy that it had all been planned behind her back, but Augusto also knew that she wouldn’t refuse Matteo; at least he didn’t think so.

They first noticed something amiss when they saw several people hurrying in the opposite direction. As they came over the last hill, Augusto saw the black smoke in the sky, but it was Fabiola who first saw their house aflame. Augusto felt the jolt of the cart and by the time he looked back down, his sister was already half-way to the house.

“Cazzo!” Augusto cursed, snapping the reigns fiercely and launching the horse into a gallop. It was difficult for the horse to keep the pace with the weight of the cart, but Augusto didn’t even hesitate to leave his seat to jump onto the mare. He cut the cart loose and rode the saddleless horse the rest of the way to the burning house.

Fabiola was nowhere to be seen, and he experienced a moment of panic until he spotted her next to the watering box where the horse drank. She was wearing only her kirtle, dress discarded on the ground beside her, and as he watched, she lifted a bucket and doused herself with water so it ran in rivulets down her body. Then he watched in horror as she rushed inside the blazing inferno.

“Fabiola!” he screamed, running to do the same, and cursing when he saw there wasn’t much left. He grabbed his sister’s dress and ripped off a few good sized pieces, and soaked them in the water before wrapping them around his mouth and nose. Then he dumped the rest of the remaining water over himself before rushing into the burning house after his twin sister.

There was too much smoke that stung his eyes and didn’t allow him to see properly, and falling embers fell and sizzled on his wet arms before burning out. The ceiling groaned above him, and he knew it was on the verge of collapse. As he moved toward the kitchen where he’d last seen Caterina and Giotto, part of the doorway collapsed and blocked his way. “Fabiola!” he yelled, trying to figure out where she was.

He heard a scream from the living room and turned around to run in that direction, dodging falling debris as he went. When he passed through the door it was to see Fabiola trying to get a badly burned and injured Caterina off their father’s corpse. The man was obviously dead as could be seen by the wound in his chest. Augusto experienced a strong wave of grief; however, there was no time to mourn. He had to get Fabiola and Caterina to safety.

Augusto knew his nephew was gone, since Caterina kept repeating, “They took Giotto.” There would be time to figure out who ‘they’ were, but for now they needed to get out. As he bodily lifted a protesting Caterina and all three of them left what remained of the house, he thought of the only person that would want to take Giotto; Ottavio.

When they were finally out, the rush of fresh air was a huge relief as he set the woman down a good distance from the burning building before ripping off the rags around his face. Fabiola was coughing and trying to dispel the smoke from her lungs, and he could see the blackness around her nose and mouth where she’d breathed in the noxious fumes. Caterina couldn’t speak for all the coughing she was doing, and while Fabiola fussed over her, Augusto straightened and looked around for his horse. The mare was grazing undisturbed on the hill they’d gone over in their rush to get to the house.

Augusto noticed that the small crowd that had formed when they’d ran inside the house was thinning out, and that no one had even tried to offer them aid. It wasn’t from being too cruel or callous, because he could see it in their pale, stricken face. They were afraid that any help they offered the siblings would be seen as defiance against the Borgia. That only further confirmed Augusto’s suspicion that it had been Ottavio. Fabiola had tried and failed to draw the emblem that she’d seen on the guards that had tried to kidnap Giotto and herself almost two years ago. Matteo had confirmed that while he and his men were Roman guards, the ones with that crest directly served Cesare Borgia. It also meant that he had more influence that Matteo despite having more years as Captain than Ottavio.

He suspected that his ex-friend hadn’t sabotaged Matteo either because he didn’t know his name or Matteo’s involvement with Fabiola. It could also be that he couldn’t think of a way to do it without arousing Cesare’s suspicion that he was using the man’s personal guard for _his_ personal use. To hide them from the man, Matteo had moved them with the hope that wouldn’t get his hands on Gitto. It didn’t matter that Augusto felt like a coward for running and hiding, but he would do anything for that little boy’s safety. Now, it had all been futile, and that monster had taken his nephew.

Caterina’s coughing fit had calmed and she told them at once what had happened while Fabiola tried to clumsily stop the bleeding to a stab wound in her shoulder. It had been done with a thin dagger and hadn’t done too much damage. The fact that she’d been left alive meant they’d wanted her stay that way to tell the twins where they had taken the two year old. Even setting the house on fire had been a message, which was that they could hide no more. Ottavio _wanted_ them to know where he was.

“It’s a trap,” Augusto stated the obvious. Fabiola turned her soot-covered face toward her brother, and saw the fury burning like an unholy light in her caramel eyes. Her response was a clear to him as if she’d spoken, _‘Yes, but I’m still going there to kill him.’_ Augusto gave a feral smile. “Unless I get to the bastardo first.” The smirk on her face was answer enough. _‘You’re on.’_

They took Caterina to the doctor to attend her injuries before telling her where they would rendezvous with them after the dottore was finished with her. The siblings hurried off to where they’d already established to meet with each other and Matteo in case something happened and they were separated. It was too risky to send word to the Captain telling him what had happened, so they had to hope that the man found out on his own and could defend against anything Ottavio might try.

It was almost sun set when all five men arrived, and there they learned why they’d taken so long. Matteo and his men had been sent on a wild goose chase after supposed insurgents. When they’d figured out they’d been cheated did Matteo send Giovanni to check on the house while the rest of them continued their shift. The archer had brought horrific news, and Matteo had disappeared to investigate the whereabouts of Ottavio Farnese. When he had it and that fact that it was heavily guarded, did he return to his men and they’d all left their posts after the changing of the guard.

Although they had suspected it individually, all five men were angered when they learned that Giotto had been taken. Matteo and the twins planned, and although it was difficult for Fabiola, they decided to wait until nightfall to attack. It would be very tricky to invade without raising the alarm, since it was located close to a damned tower and one mistake would bring a veritable army down on them. So, it would have to be planned and executed with precision.

The archers patrolling on the rooftops would be the first to go, four in total. There were seven of them and five hired mercenaries; making twelve against however many Ottavio had with him. They’d be divided into groups of three, which would come from all four directions; north, south, west, and east. After they were separated, each group would be in charge of eliminating an archer, and dispatching of them without alerting those inside was essential. The element of surprise was needed in order for this plan to be a success. If they were correct in it being a trap, then there’d be more than they could handle within the walls. So, securing the archers and their vantage points had to be achieved without fail. That way four of their own archers could take out any guards with crossbows the others might encounter while sneaking into the compound.

The Captain was grim faced as he handed out the crossbows that would be used tonight. The plan they had in mind would ensure that they be discovered as traitors. “Of course, Ottavio Farnese will have already made sure to expose my men and I, so after this we’ll be enemies of the Borgia.”

Fabiola was a few feet away, leaning against a tree but still within hearing range. She’d been absently flipping a dagger in her left hand as her booted foot tapped impatiently against the ground. At Matteo’s words she paused and without glancing over she flicked her wrist and the dagger in her hand embedded dead center within their huddled group. All except Augusto flinched, and Matteo glanced warily at her as she straightened and made a cutting motion across her throat with her thumb.

Augusto chuckled as he reached over to pull the weapon out of the ground to throw it back at her, which his sister caught with ease. “Fabiola is still going to kill Ottavio.” The young man grabbed one of the crossbows as well as a bundle of twenty-five bolts. “So, who is backing out, and who’s going to kill some scum?” Augusto and Fabiola were standing for all of two seconds before Matteo and the other four followed. They looked grim-faced but determined, and Matteo trusted them with his life, and after two years Fabiola did as well.

Augusto, on the other hand, only trusted four people in total with his life, and one of them was dead now. This was one of the reasons he would be the archer of their group, which consisted of Fabiola, Matteo and himself, and not to mention that he was the better marksman. Also, this way he would be like a guardian angel toward his sister. Of course, he would watch Matteo’s back or his sister would never forgive him, but also because he’d grown accustomed to having Matteo around. The man had done right by his sister and given the child his last name, and he could admit that he was one of the people he trusted. At the moment they’d be celebrating Matteo and Fabiola’s engagement if it hadn’t of been for Ottavio.

The young man was determined to see him dead, and now it wasn’t just for raping his sister. His father had been murdered during Giotto’s kidnapping, and Ottavio had been directly responsible. It didn’t matter if he’d held the sword that had killed him or not, Ottavio Farnese would die tonight. Afterwards, the twins would have ample time to mourn and face the reality that now they truly were orphans.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ragazza carina - pretty girl  
> Grazie a Dio - Thank God


	16. The Perfect Flawed Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title came to me that same night around midnight, but I had no chance to post the chapter. Then yesterday work was so exhausting that I went to sleep at seven and woke today at 5:30am. So, only now have I been able to post it. Hopefully, it’s alright, but eh, who cares.

**Chapter Sixteen:** _The Perfect Flawed Plan_

~o~

It was pitch black that night, since there were dark clouds that dominated the sky, and thus no moonlight to guide their steps. That would serve them in the long run, since even with torches, one had to be really close to see faces, but before that happened they’d get a crossbow bolt in the chest. Matteo took point, since he donned his Captain’s garb, and thus had a lesser risk of being questioned if he was spotted first. It was all part of the plan, which is the reason that one of his men was in each group; with the exception of Giovanni’s group who had Domenico, the worse at archery. They were all quite capable, and determined to see this through. Each of them would be placed strategically, and their armor would keep them from being discovered. The only one that ran the greater risk of being seen was Augusto, who was just as good as Giovanni since he’d trained with the slightly older man on the side during their two years of hiding.

So, Matteo’s group would come from the north, the back side of the compound, since that meant he would be positioned on a section on a lower roof and flanked on both sides by the higher roof, and thus be partially shielded from view.

Matteo waited anxiously beside Fabiola as they crouched down against the wall, and Augusto silently scaled the wall above them using indentations on its surface as he went. He had the crossbow and bolts secured on his back, and the bandolier of throwing knifes attached at his waist. As he crested the edge, he was hidden from view by the railing, but an opening in the stone allowed him to track the archers’ movements. When he was close enough to him and not in danger of the body falling into the courtyard below, did he strike. The throwing knife hissed through the air and found purchase in between his breastbone and piercing his light armor, and the guard staggered in shock on his face before he crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

The young man scrambled over the edge and dragged it out of sight, and swallowed back bile as it rose and threatened to spill past his lips. Augusto may have already killed before during the last attempt to kidnap Giotto, but had never been so close to a corpse. However, he refused to suffer the embarrassment of throwing up where Matteo would hear him, who had seen his share of death and probably caused more than Augusto ever had. 

So, he moved the man’s dead weight without complaint, but naught without a bit of difficulty, and when he was stuffed securely in a corner he gave Fabiola and Matteo the signal. As the other two moved toward the main entrance, Augusto positioned himself in his spot but with the torch light at his back. He had his bundle of crossbow bolts at his side and the dead archers supply as well. Augusto saw the glint of torchlight reflected off the sword three times from the south, west and east locations and he quickly did his own signal. Now, all he had to do was wait for the eight on the ground to kill the guards at the gate without alerting the rest of the compound, and the four positioned on the roof would take out any stragglers before Matteo and the others were discovered.

The dark clouds overhead finally released its weight in water five minutes later as the torches all over were extinguished. Augusto was unmoving as he crouched in place and his sharp eyes watched two of the gate try to relight the torches as soon as the brief shower passed. Fabiola darted in between the four distracted guards and with four swipes of her sword; the men were dead before they hit the ground. It was easy enough to drag the bodies off and hide within some nearby bushes, while the rest slipped silently into the compound. Augusto saw everything from his position on the low hanging roof, and he was sure that if it hadn’t run the risk of exposing himself, Giovanni would have taken out the men with ease from his southern position, which was right above the gate. Augusto didn’t know how the man had managed to get up there without being seen, and kill the patrolling archer without alerting the ones guarding the gate.

Augusto spied a four man patrol heading in his sister’s direction as she moved along with Matteo covering her back. The young man aimed at the one at the back and he fell with a clank of his armor, but by the time they turned to investigate the noise, Augusto had loaded once more and killed a second. Before the last two could run for cover or sound the alarm, Fabiola and Matteo had come up behind them and quickly slit their throats. All four teams moved in this manner, leaving the dead in their wake. When there was no sign of life in the open courtyard and the surrounding buildings, all the eight on ground level converged on the main building. They couldn’t risk leaving anyone alive in case they alerted their presence to anyone waiting for them, or get reinforcements from the tower.

Fabiola and Matteo peered in through the windows on their side of the main building as the rest crouched close to the ground. The young man saw his sister and the Captain huddle together and have a one-sided discussion as Fabiola would nod or give Matteo hand gestures. Augusto understood her perfectly even from where he was crouched on the roof, since at times she moved her hands in certain ways to convey some things. He had learned to read her hand gestures, since they’d always understood each other without the use of words. During the years of her torture, they had drifted apart and had never understood it until he knew the truth.

His sister lifted her head and Augusto knew she was looking at him, and it was confirmed when she lifted her hands to gesture thirty, but whether there were thirty men with Ottavio or with Ottavio it equaled thirty. Regardless, that as still too many for the eight down below and there was also the dilemma on how to get them to come outside. Once more, the element of surprise would have to be employed, and they just had to figure out how to do it.

Fabiola seemed to have an idea as she gestured to Matteo, and tried to explain her plan. Finally, after they struggled to communicate, the Captain understood and signaled the archers to be ready. Augusto watched Fabiola’s lithe figure dart away from their group and go around to the back of the house. He couldn’t see her from where he was, but before she had moved away from the others he’d seen her withdraw two smoke bombs from her pouch. The young man wondered if she planned on throwing them in a back room. That way it would only seem like there was a fire, because he knew she'd never place Giotto in such danger. So, using the smoke bombs was the only thing she could use to smoke them out, and making them believe there was a fire. Ottavio, despite all the damage he’d done, was sure to genuinely care for the boy, and would get him to safety.

When Augusto saw the smoke billowing from under the door and any open windows, he readied his crossbow while at the same time noted that he had twenty-five projectiles left. It would be enough with a clear shot, but this plan would ensure that there would be too much movement as they ran out of the building. When their allies engaged them in combat, it’d be harder to get a shot in without risk of hitting their own. Even with Giovanni and Augusto’s excellent aim, it’d be hard pressed not to hit Matteo’s men or the mercenaries, and so he’d join the fray as soon as the fighting started. If he was correct in his assumption, the rest of the archers would do the same, and also make sure not to let anyone live or they’d bring reinforcements.

Augusto managed to kill two before there was too much fighting to distinguish friend from foe. He took the twenty bolts that he had left and attached them at his back, since he’d wasted five just trying to hit the two he’d managed to kill. As he hopped down to a lower roof, Augusto cursed as a projectile slammed into his shoulder, and in the haze of pain he tumbled off the roof. The wind was knocked out of his lungs with the impact, and he could vaguely hear someone scream his name before everything went black.

~o~

Fabiola had been fighting furiously against a much larger opponent when he heard Matteo scream her brother’s name, and her eyes snapped to where she’d heard the scream. Augusto was unconscious on the ground on the other side of the compound with a knife in his shoulder. She jumped away from an attack as the one she was fighting tried to injure her while she was seemingly distracted. Only when she saw Matteo defend her downed brother did she engage the bastard again, viciously ending the fight so she could help Augusto.

She stopped in her tracks before she made it, and then dashed off in another direction. There were only two things that would stop her from going to her brother’s side, and the first was if she was dead, and the second was if her son’s life was in danger. This is the reason she ran off, since she spotted Ottavio and in his arms was a squirming Giotto. He was trying to push away from Ottavio, and when that didn’t seem to work he was pulling his hair and hitting his face. Ottavio was red faced and fumbling to keep a hold on the boy and his sword at the same time, and trying to walk forward was out of the question.

Fabiola was quick and noiseless as she came up behind him and lifted a foot to kick him in the back of his knee, thus making his leg give way. He scrambled to keep his balance and in the process he lost hold of Giotto. The boy proved himself to be Matteo’s son as he landed on his feet and immediately raced away from the fighting. Fabiola didn’t follow after the boy, knowing that as long as he kept hidden then nothing would happen to him. The boy would not make a sound, since he didn’t speak and would wait quietly until one of his parents came for him.

Meanwhile, Fabiola was left confronting Ottavio who had risen to his feet, and the only sign that she was afraid was her sword hand trembling. However, she would not fail at this, not this time. She would not allow this man to harm her son ever again.

“Our son is beautiful, Fabiola,” Ottavio called out as he swung his sword at her, which she blocked and quickly countered. He stumbled back in surprise, pressing a hand to his stomach which came away bloody. “You’ve learned a few tricks.” She flashed him a snarl and launched herself at him, taking the offensive and forcing him to defend. They exchanged a few blows and although she had the advantage of speed, he was stronger and every time their swords connected, she was driven back. It was starting to look like she might lose and everything she had worked for seemed futile, and hopeless.

Ottavio feinted at hit at her right side, and when she went to block, he twisted his wrist and his sword cut her deeply on her left side. Fabiola cried out in shock and pain, clutching at her wound but her sword was still up. She would not surrender, not this time. The man, at seeing her defiance, chuckled and casually circled her as her weapon followed his trek and they could now both see her hand trembling. “Despite everything that’s happened, I still want you at my side, Fabiola.” He twirled the sword easily, showing that he had more practice than she, and that perhaps she would never be a match for him. Whether it was because his skill surpassed hers or because her fear of him hindered her was unclear.

He moved so fast that she could do nothing but watch as her sword was knocked out of her hand, and she met his fierce black eyes with frightened caramel. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Fabiola.” He moved his sword away and held out his other hand toward her. “Just take my hand, and you, Giotto, and I can form a family.” She knew he was being sincere and that if she took his hand, everything would be better, and perhaps he would make a great father. They _could_ be happy.

However, this man had raped her. He had killed her father, and what’s more, he had kidnapped Giotto and terrorized her son. So, there was no way she could live with him and look at him every day knowing all the harm he had done to her and her family. Then there was the fact that Augusto would never forgive her, and that she was in love with Matteo. Fabiola shook her head and spat at his feet, showing him at least with actions what she felt about his proposition.

Ottavio sighed as he closed his eyes, dropping his hand at his side and said nothing for a moment. “Then it ends here,” he proclaimed, lifting the sword and pointing it in the middle of her chest. “Because I would rather kill you than see you in the arms of that figlio di puttana, Matteo da Vigo.” Fabiola winced as she pressed harder against her bleeding side, and when he lifted the sword she could only close her eyes and accept her fate, hoping her brother and Matteo would get Giotto out of here.

There was the sound of running footsteps, and then someone getting tackled. Fabiola’s eyes snapped open in surprise and saw that Matteo had saved her once again. Both men rolled around the ground for several moments, trying to hit each other and looking like a couple of boys involved in a schoolhouse brawl. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Fabiola might have allowed herself a laugh at the sight. However, soon they separated with Ottavio’s knife plunged into Matteo’s thigh as the man rolled away with a grunt of pain.

They recovered their feet and circled one another and even if she wanted to stay and find out who would win this fight, she needed to go find Giotto. She was afraid he may have gotten caught up in any fighting happening nearby. So, with one last longing glance at the former Captain, she hurried off in the same direction that the boy had run to.

She found him huddled in between two buildings, in a small space that only someone as small as him could have fit. Fabiola beckoned him forward, and he crawled slowly and silently out of the niche and into his mother’s arms. The woman sighed in relief at having her boy back with her, and promised never to allow anyone to separate them. She realized that the one person that could do such a thing was Ottavio, who was at that very moment fighting Matteo. Fabiola straightened and hurried back the way she had come.

It was something she would never forget, as she rounded the corner of the main courtyard where the battle was taking place, and the deafening noise of the fighting wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of her son’s scream.

**_“Papa!”_ **

Fabiola’s mouth was open in horror as she saw Matteo fall to Ottavio’s sword. The boy was trying to wiggle out of her grip but she had a firm hold of him, and she started to walk forward until she was running. Both mother and child fell at his side, Fabiola immediately trying to staunch the flow of blood to his stomach wound but there was so much blood.

“Fabiola, take care of our son,” he coughed, blood bubbling up out of his mouth. She knew there was no hope as tears spilled down her face, and she leaned down and kissed him despite the blood.

“I love you,” she rasped, her throat scratchy from disuse. Fabiola knew then that this truly would be the last thing she _ever_ said. The man smiled, mouthing the words in return before his eyes fluttered closed. Fabiola bit back the wail of grief that wanted to rip from her throat and pulled her sobbing son off Matteo’s body as he fought against her. She placed her face against his baby smooth cheek and made a soft mewl-like sound to try and comfort him. He wrapped his legs around her waist while burying his face into her shoulder, and as she stood, she faced the man that had taken Giotto’s father away from him.

Ottavio had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he moved the bloody stained sword from side to side. Fabiola took up the dead man’s weapon and held it in a defensive position, because she wouldn’t attack while she had Giotto in her arms, and she wouldn’t put him down. He circled her like a tiger stalking its prey, and when he got too close she slashed at him but he easily danced away from the reach of her sword.

“Are you ready?” asked the black haired man, a cruel grin twisting his features. He darted forward on the offensive as Fabiola stumbled back, managing to parry a hit every now and then and when she couldn’t, turned away so Giotto wouldn’t be harmed. They were mild cuts and they stung as the sweat from her body entered the open wounds. When she felt like a single cut more and she’d dissolve into ribbons, he stopped seven feet from her as she panted with her sword still in her hand. “Still not ready to give up?” he asked. He lifted his empty hand again toward her, once more giving her the option of taking his offer. This time she sprang forward with her sword and the tip cut deeply into his palm. “Cazzo!” Ottavio cursed and snapped his hand back, cradling it to his chest as blood stained his uniform. “Have it your way, troia!”

~o~

He moaned as he regained consciousness, the movement causing nausea to coil in his stomach and became aware that a pair of hands was dragging him somewhere. Augusto blinked dark brown eyes and his dim surroundings were blurred for a few seconds before everything came into sharp focus. He was in an alleyway, and the one that had dragged him away from the fighting was Giovanni. As he tried to regain his coherency, an enemy soldier came in their direction, and he tried to assist a distracted Giovanni by using a throwing dagger but his aim was off and it only grazed the soldier’s thigh. However, it was enough distraction for Giovanni to twist around with sword in hand and drove it all the way to the hilt up into his ribcage. As he was shoving the dead man off his sword, Augusto yanked out the dagger out of his shoulder with a grunt of pain, and examined it.

Most of the torches had gone out during the brief bout of rain, but there were some that had been re-lit before them and their allies had eliminated the soldiers in the courtyard. Thus he was able to use the light of the torch in the alleyway to see the Farnese crest engraved on the dagger. “Figlio di puttana,” he hissed angrily before wiping it off and sheathing it in his own sheath for the time being. Augusto wanted it with him, so when he got close enough, he’d use the bastard’s own weapon to plunge into his heart. Augusto was very aware of where the heart was, since he’d studied designs of the human body to be able to paint people better. Now, it would serve him in insuring that he properly delivered the death blow.

Augusto wrapped his shoulder with bandages he had as tight as he could without cutting off circulation, and left the alleyway to join the fighting. Giovanni had been forced to leave him and assist Lorenzo, but Augusto had insisted that he was fine. As he drew his sword and joined the fray, he noticed that one of the mercenaries had been killed, and maybe a dozen on the enemy’s side. However, that was still too many for the eleven of them that were left. Also, Fabiola and Matteo were nowhere to be seen, and it was making him nervous as hell.

He finally spotted his sister through the fighting on the other side of the compound. Giotto was in her arms as the two year old clung desperately to his mother. Ottavio had them cornered, while Fabiola swung her sword at him to keep him from coming any closer. He was filled with panic and fear, since he was too far away and there were too many in his path, and wondered where Matteo was. The man was supposed to protect his sister and Giotto. It was obvious he couldn’t do it, and he didn’t know why he’d ever approved of–

The young man was cut off mid-thought as Ottavio jumped away from Fabiola’s sword and he was finally able to see the body on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Matteo. He felt a rush of coldness settle over his heart, because he knew the man was dead. Then a fierce hatred filled him, because once again Ottavio had hurt their family. He had killed Fabiola’s only love, Giotto’s father, and... and Augusto’s friend.

Giovanni and Lorenzo were the ones closest to him when it happened, but even they couldn’t fully follow the carnage he unleashed on the soldier’s in his path. Augusto himself didn’t even remember doing it, and all he remembered thinking was that he had to get through all the fighting; and he suddenly was. As Ottavio turned, Augusto didn’t think as he lunged at the man, and his own dagger sank with a satisfying squelch in his chest. They both tumbled to the ground with Augusto on top of his ex-friend.

Ottavio stared up at him as if surprised by his appearance, and then his mouth twisted into a bloody grin. “Did you ever imagine when we were kids that we’d one day wind up here?”

Augusto’s hand tightened in a white knuckled grip around the hilt. “Those days are nothing but a bitter memory now!” he spat angrily.

The dying man lifted a shaking hand to grip the front of his shirt, bloody fingers staining the material, but he was too weak now to shake him. “Giotto is _my_ son!”

“No!” Augusto snarled; twisting the dagger as Ottavio’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain as blood dribbled out. “Matteo is Giotto’s father!” He ripped out the weapon and stabbed him again, but by then Ottavio was already dead.

Augusto felt a hand at his back and turned defensively, but deflated when he saw that it was only Fabiola. She had Giotto’s face buried against her shoulder to keep him from seeing anything that would scar his young mind. Augusto unfastened Ottavio’s sheath from around his waist before he pulled the dagger out of the dead man’s chest. He straightened from where he’d been straddling the corpse and secured the sheath at his own waist, and then he slipped the weapon in without cleaning the blood off.

There wasn’t anyone else alive besides the ten of them, but during the fighting one of the torches had been knocked over and the stables had been set ablaze. So, the only thing they’d be able to do was throw their dead on the make-shift pyre before the smoke attracted unwanted attention. When it was time to burn Matteo’s body, Fabiola was dry-eyed as she lovingly caressed the cold cheek, but Augusto could see the anguish in her honey colored eyes. She flicked out her knife, which he noticed belonged to the former Captain, and cut several locks of hair. Fabiola put them in a handkerchief after hastily tying it with a blood-red ribbon, and then stored it all in her pouch.

“There’s someone approaching!” Giovanni’s shout startled her out of her thoughts, and Fabiola longingly gazed at the man’s still face once more before grudgingly nodding. She turned away from them so she wouldn’t have to see them place Matteo’s body in the fire. Instead, she hurried over to where Domenico was distracting Giotto so he wouldn’t be witness to the hurried funeral pyre. Fabiola lifted Giotto in her arms before clasping Domenico’s hand as equals then parted ways. The remaining men came to say their good-byes before they all ran to the horses they’d tied off outside the building.

The rain started up in tandem then and soaked everything and everyone in seconds, yet it only served to increase the heat so fiercely that it stole the breath right out of their lungs. Fabiola lifted her head toward the distance, her wet hair plastered to her face and through the limp strands she saw the approaching soldier’s on horseback, and knew that the ten of them wouldn’t be enough to take on such a large force.

Augusto’s shout made her snap toward him, and saw the four mercenaries that remained as they abandoned them to their fate. Fabiola put her thumb and middle finger to her lips and blew, and the shrill whistle caught her brother’s attention. When he turned to her, she motioned for them to go and he reluctantly nodded. Agostino and the others headed west and the siblings went north, but it seemed that their fight was yet to be over as half chased one group and the other half came after the twins. The six riders would still be too many for the twins, and especially since Fabiola wouldn’t be able to fight with Giotto on the saddle with her. Fabiola wouldn’t let anyone harm her child, and if she had to give her life to protect his; so be it.

The guards’ stallions kept up with theirs and seemed to be gaining on them. Augusto and Matteo had conversed when they had been alone about the outcome of this particular mission. Matteo had been rather frank on the probability of survival. Augusto had no doubt that he would kill Ottavio, especially with Matteo and his men at his side. However, if the near-by tower was alerted of the attack on the compound, then there was nil chance of them coming out of it alive. So, they had hatched a plan to keep Fabiola and Giotto safe. The clouds parted momentarily and the moonlight made the drops of rain sparkle like diamonds falling from the sky, and the young man knew what he had to do. Matteo was dead, so it would fall on Augusto to carry it out alone and protect their family.

The young man urged the mare alongside Fabiola, and the other turned to look at him. Fabiola seemed to know that he had something planned and the grief on her face was as clear as day. “Get to where Caterina is waiting!” She opened her mouth as if to speak, but even if Augusto was sure he might never hear her voice ever again, he didn’t need her words right then. “GO!” He smacked the horse on the romp and it gave a whine before charging through the path, underneath the three beams secured into the earth above their heads.

Meanwhile, Augusto only went past them two feet before coming to a sudden halt and turning his mare around. He withdrew the already loaded crossbow and shot the horse out from under the leader. The man was unfortunate enough to wind up underneath the massive animal as he screamed at the horse landing on his leg all the way up to his thigh.

It forced the rest of the nine riders to stop, since the path was too narrow for them to pass around the fallen animal and the beams overhead wouldn’t allow them to jump over both horse and rider. There was a path further back that lead to a small cliff above their heads, however, Matteo had gotten the thieves to secure it so as not to let anyone through. The thieves would do just about anything for a few fiorini. A group of five men were positioned above to Augusto’s left, hidden by the shadow of the mountain that was on the right.

There was no demand for surrender as they all prepared their crossbows to fire on him before he thought to make an escape, but Augusto merely lifted a hand in the air which he closed into a fist. The projectiles rained down on the unsuspecting men as the young man watched with a sort of detached coldness that alarmed him. Three riders were shot off their horses as the animals bolted out of the line of fire, and one of the horses was killed and knocked his rider back. Another wasn’t as fortunate as he was crushed under his dead stallion when it was killed.

Augusto calmly reloaded his crossbow as he urged his mare closer to the Captain still trapped under the horse, and he pointed before unloading it in his chest. He knew that with their leader now dead the other three left would retreat, and he wasn’t surprised when they turned tail and fled. When they had gone out of sight, Augusto waved up at one of the thieves, and when he had returned the wave they all disappeared from view.

The young man sighed and turned his horse around to go in the direction that Fabiola had gone, and hopefully reach her before they met up with Agostino and the others. Afterwards, they planned to leave Roma for some time, and perhaps even Italia altogether. Their rendezvous was under the Arco di Tito and whoever arrived first would wait until dawn before leaving via the Porta Pinciana, which was the gate close to their childhood home. It might seem reckless to anyone to return there, but that was the beauty of the plan. It would seem an absurd thing to do, so they wouldn’t expect it.

Dawn was rapidly approaching, but he was certain that he’d get there before Fabiola and Caterina left, and then they’d leave Roma for good. As he was almost there, a figure hailed him from under the shadows of the arch and realized that it was Fabiola. He was momentarily concerned when he didn’t see Giotto or Caterina, but calmed when he spotted them under the shadows of the arch. Augusto dismounted and rushed forward to hug and kiss his sister’s cheek before doing the same to Caterina, and carefully kissing a sleeping Giotto. The poor child must have been exhausted by the whole ordeal. He glanced around in confusion. “Where are Giovanni and the others?” he asked in concern. They were supposed to be there with a cart and supplies for the trip.

Fabiola looked pained for a moment and glanced helplessly at Caterina. The woman spoke up because Fabiola couldn’t get the words out. “You and Fabiola are the only ones I’ve seen all night besides the patrols.”

Augusto was about to answer, but was cut off by the quick approach of footsteps. The young man sent Caterina with Giotto back to hide in the shadows as Fabiola came to stand at his side; both their hands on the hilt of their weapons. A thin man in clothes that were closer to rags was running in their direction with something clutched to his chest. As he saw the twins, he quickened his pace and Augusto and Fabiola drew their weapons.

The man stopped ten feet away from them as his chest heaved with exertion. “The nightingale soars on a warm summer breeze,” he called out, stunning the siblings. They had prepared a phrase to use in case something drastic happened, and they had to use a messenger for whatever reason. That way, they’d know that any message was authentic.

“But beware for the cat may pounce; hidden within the branches of the trees,” Augusto finished the phrase to prove that they were whom he had to relay the message to. Augusto was worried as to why Giovanni or one of the others had used a messenger, and even more so being this beggar. “Tell me what happened.” 

The ragged man glanced warily behind him as if he expected an attack to come at any second, and his behavior was making Augusto very uneasy. He glanced at Fabiola as the woman ran her fingers almost daintily along the handle of her dagger. “A man in dented armor was fleeing from soldiers wearing the same uniform, and pulled me into an alleyway to evade them. He said that it was too dangerous for him to meet his friends, and that I should deliver a message, but had me memorize that phrase first.” The beggar looked over his shoulder again before glancing at the two of them. “The man would not give me his name, but he said that you should leave Roma without them. They managed to get away, but they were already exposed. He said to tell his wife and son that he loves them very much, and that he’s sorry.”

He shuffled from foot to foot nervously. “He ran out into the street to distract the soldiers so I wouldn’t be seen. Also, he...he said there would be payment on your end when I delivered the message.”

It was Fabiola that stepped forward and withdrew several fiorini from the pouch that had been attached to her belt. She gave him fifty as he greedily took them and fumbled with the empty pouch he had and all the while he wouldn’t release what he had clutched to his chest. As he was putting the last fiorini, Fabiola held out her pouch and shook it so the coins clinked and jingled against one another, and smirked as she saw his eyes snap up and fix firmly on the small money bag.

Augusto immediately took over, understanding what she wanted to say. “How would you like to earn more money?” The beggar nodded eagerly and Augusto grinned. “I need some information...”

~o~

“Hanged?!” Caterina shrieked, making Giotto cringe where he was playing close by and cover his ears. The woman stood and guided him out of the room to go play with Givovanni’s son, who was the same age as him. When she was sure he’d gone, she went back to sit where she had been. “They cannot possible hang those nice young men!” The beggar had gone to gather information on the four men, and he was the perfect spy since while clothed in rags, he disappeared into the background. It was this way that he could easily eavesdrop on the guards’ conversations, and that’s how he’d learned that Matteo and his men had been accused of treason and conspiracy against the church. A letter had been sent off before they’d attack detailing their false crimes, and as well of their plans to attack the compound. The latter was the only true crime, and it hadn’t helped that they were spotted close to the area. Anything they may have tried to say to excuse their presence there would be easily discredited, since they’d been off duty and far from their usual patrol routes.

Augusto shushed the maid with a stern look, since he didn’t want Giovanni’s wife to hear. Just before the rescue, the man had relocated his family to a safe-house. The siblings had no other place to go since their plan to escape Roma had been ruined by the other’s capture, and they couldn’t possibly leave them to their fate. Giovanni’s wife had been shocked when they had knocked urgently at dawn, but she’d made no protest and let them in before they were spotted. Although they hadn’t said anything on the four men being captured, Augusto suspected she knew simply because they’d appeared alone. However, he refused to let her know of what awaited her husband, and even more important was keeping her son from knowing.

The man had been gone most of the day and now it was nearing nightfall. “When and where are they being hanged?” Augusto demanded. There was no way he was letting another friend die for them.

“I-it’s in two days at the Piazza Navona.” The beggar, whose named he refused to give them, shifted nervously as he licked his dry lips. “I need my money now, per favore.” Augusto stared at him suspiciously for several moments. The man hadn’t looked this nervous since he’d first delivered Giovanni’s message. Fabiola also sensed the same thing and at an imperceptible nod from him, she lunged at the beggar, and slammed him into the ground as she put a knife against his throat. The man cried out in fear and pain, and Augusto heard Caterina gasp at the violence. However, she didn’t say anything since she’d already understood long ago that at times fighting violence with violence was the only way to survive.

Fabiola easily held the man down, who was really just skin and bones. Augusto crouched down beside them, picking at his fingernails with his own dagger. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I really need you to give me the right answer.” He turned the dagger away from his nails to point at the man, and at the same time Fabiola adjusted her position over him she was sitting on his chest as her legs had his arms pinned. “Did you tell anyone where we were?”

His panicked eyes darted between the siblings before moving to Caterina’s trembling figure. “I h-had no choice!” he sobbed pathetically. “One of the guards caught me eavesdropping, and forced me to tell him everything!” He tried to lift his shirt but Fabiola had his arms pinned, so Augusto reached over to yank it up. The young man saw the blood soaked bandages wrapped around his stomach and cleaner ones secured around his chest. Although the bindings hid them from view, it was likely there was heavy bruising, and it meant they’d broken his ribs. The bandaging was hastily done, which meant his torturers had done it themselves before sending him here to lay a trap for them.

“When are they coming? Is the information a trap?” He reached out and dug his fingers against the wound and the man screamed. “When and where are they being executed?!” Fabiola straddled his chest more firmly and squeezed her thighs together until he was sobbing from the pain.

“Tomorrow at noon in the Piazza del Popollo!” Fabiola glanced at her brother and when he nodded, she removed the knife and allowed the beggar to stand. As he regained his feet, the man clutched at his mid-section with a pained gasp. “When I leave and give them the signal,” he demonstrated for them, “they’ll come in to arrest you.” He glanced hesitantly at the siblings. “I’m so sorry...”

Augusto interrupted his apology as he turned toward Caterina. “Go get Helena and the kids ready to leave. Only take some food and clothes.” The woman hurried out of the room to do as she was told, and he hoped that Helena wouldn’t question it. When she’d gone, the young man sighed and turned away from the injured man. Fabiola surged forward, wrapping slender fingers around his mouth at the same time as she drove her knife up to the hilt in the older man’s chest. He bucked against her, but he was immobilized against Fabiola and the wall at his back. She twisted the knife as his muffled whimper died in a wet gurgle against her mouth before he went limp in death. Fabiola released his corpse so it fell to the floor and wiped her bloody hand as well as the knife on a handkerchief.

“Do you think the information was false?” he asked her. Fabiola looked down at the corpse, his face frozen in a mask of fear and she shook her head. “Very well, and now we have to think on a way of getting out of the house alive.” Augusto stared at the man and the rags he was wearing. “I may have an idea. Get his clothes off him so I can put them on.” Fabiola glanced warily at him, and he sighed. “You’re better with kids than me, so it’ll be better that I go out there.” He took the offered rags. “I’ll give you time to flee.” The woman nodded before straightening, and she embraced her brother before quickly moving away. Fabiola didn’t want to think that this was the last time she would see him, and instead hurried away to make sure the others were ready.

They would be watching both doors in case the fugitives tried to flee, but the second story window that was to the south was just level with the top plateau of the cliff. After the soldiers came in to arrest them, Fabiola would throw in a kerosene lamp rigged like a Molotov, and afterwards it wouldn’t be long for the whole house to catch fire. So, after making sure that Caterina, Helena and the children were out on the cliff face, Fabiola started to spread kerosene all over the first floor, and then up the stairs. Once she threw in the lantern, there would be no way to follow them up the stairs, and she only prayed that Augusto wouldn’t try to get in the house and escaped another way. After Fabiola had secured the two women and the kids somewhere safe, she’d meet Augusto at the rendezvous point. She knew that Augusto wanted to have her safe with the others, but she wouldn’t hide while he went to save Matteo’s men. She had already lost Matteo, and she was hell bent on trying to prevent their friend’s execution.

Augusto left the house wearing the man’s rags, as well as the tattered scrap of cloth he called a hat. It would be tricky to impersonate the beggar because he had long, stringy white hair coming out from under the dirty head covering. So, Augusto had cut the dead man’s hair as close to the scalp with cutting the skin, and used some pins he found to secure it on the inside of the hat. Augusto also made sure to imitate his walk, which was an awkward sideways shuffle. It worked for the young man since he could slouch forward and hide the bulge his bandolier of throwing knives made which was strapped to his waist. Fabiola had taken his sword since he wouldn’t be able to hide it, but he had a thin stiletto blade strapped along his arm, hidden by the sleeve. Augusto was grateful that the clothes were loose and baggy.

It was ideal that it was night, since during the day they’d realize right away that it wasn’t him, and he was vying for the hope that they’d dismiss him as soon as he gave them the signal. As he walked toward the north, he discreetly glanced toward the east and saw four riders standing just out of sight of the house, and he’d already seen the two at the west through a window earlier when he was looking for the pins. He’d exited through the front to draw attention away from the backdoor in case Fabiola tried that exit, since he had no idea what she had planned. He would just ensure that he bought her time.

When he was within firing range instead of giving the signal, he deftly threw two throwing knife at the two ahead of him. One of the soldiers fell dead and the Captain’s horse was killed and he was flung off. He heard the whiny of the horse and the pounding hooves of two enemies approaching from the west. Augusto jumped on the downed captain, killing him with the stiletto before grabbing the crossbow bolt he had strapped to his back. He twisted around where he’d been sitting on the man’s body, and fired the already loaded weapon, hitting one of the approaching riders but scrambled away from the other as he slashed at him with his sword from up on his saddle. As he rode past, Augusto loaded the crossbow, turned and shot him in the back. The man fell with a cry of pain and Augusto rushed forward and sank the stiletto in the disoriented man’s throat. He yanked it out with a spray of blood that splattered half his face, and his head snapped up when he heard screaming.

The safe house was on fire, and the other four guards from the east that had entered were now running out as their skin was burned off. They were rolling around trying to put out the flames, but soon they’d gone still and only the roar of the fire could be heard. Augusto hoped Fabiola and the other’s weren’t inside and he had the crazy thought of how it was possible that their houses or hiding places always ended up burning. Of course, they would have ensured that the compound where Ottavio had held Giotto kidnapped burned to the ground either way.

A shrill whistle made him look up toward the cliff, and the young man was relieved when he finally spotted Fabiola, Caterina with Giotto in her arms, and Helena cradling her own son against her chest. He was glad that they were safe and sound, and he waved at them before they disappeared from sight. Augusto shed the rags to reveal his regular clothing underneath, and mounted one of the horses of the dead soldiers’ before leaving the area. It would be dawn in a few hours, and after he met up with Fabiola they had to plan on how to best storm the Piazza di Popollo to save their comrades; their brothers. The siblings refused to abandon their friends, and if they died during their attempt to save them, they would.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piazza di Navona - This piazza was built on the site of the Stadium of Domitian, which was constructed during the 1st century. Located at the southwest end of the piazza was the ancient speaking statue of Pasquino. Unearthed and erected in the Piazza in 1501, the statue was used by citizens as a sign post for social parodies and anonymous derogatory comments, which were attached to it for all to read.
> 
> Piazza del Popolo - People’s Square; a famous square that once resided near the Porta Flaminia, near the northern gate Aurelian Walls.


	17. The Hangman’s Noose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’m a bit vague on that main room at the hideout, which I assume has more floors even though we never see them. It’s possible that I got some of these descriptions wrong, but I didn’t want to go into the game to get better descriptions since I tend to get lost in the AC games; for long hours. I’m not sure where the Italian arum grows other than Southern Europe.

**Chapter Seventeen:** _The Hangman’s Noose_

~o~

There were four floors in the hideout on Isola Tiberina; if you didn’t count the basement which was cool in the summer, and was used to store most of the food. The first floor was at ground level and had many rooms where one could be entertained when not training, which was few and far in-between in the first two weeks spent there. There was the room where the paintings were kept, just a few of them at the time, but where more could be added later on. The one that Severino seemed to favor was the one where there were several books that held a diverse amount of knowledge. It seemed that the Maestro not only wanted to train their bodies, but their minds as well.

Severino was often seen there pouring over everything that he could get his hands on, and everyday Desideria saw a different book or scroll in his hands. Desi herself spent most of her time training when not accompanying the Maestro on missions, or helping him whenever he called on them. Each of Desideria’s days consisted of either a mission followed by sustenance, and then training. If there was no mission, then she started training in the early morning, followed by lunch, more training, then supper, and a light run before turning in for the night.

After enough training and experience, they would be officially brought into the Brotherhood for the first time after they reached the necessary level to become a true Assassino. She wanted to prove she could take on solo missions, and reach the level of Assasino before Severino. Nearby there was a tunnel entrance that one could use to travel all over Roma to interconnecting tunnel entrances; provided the entrance was repaired. Also, there was a special room, and to Desideria’s understanding, this is where they would perform the official ceremony. Desideria felt confident that she could reach that level quickly, but where her fellow recruit, she had some doubts about him.

Now, thinking of the older recruit made her pause in her training as a sneer twisted her lips. The young man’s full name was Severino Sabelli, and most days it was all she could do to hide her contempt for the man. Her Maestro had been on his way to see Bartolomeo d’Alviano while she shadowed his movements from the rooftops overhead as per his instructions. They had just left Isola Tiberina when the broad shouldered man had whistled the signal.

Desideria had immediately jumped down to assist him in fighting some guards, and noticed that they were assisting a man that had been battling them alone. He was obviously injured already and for this very reason she had thought he was weak. After all, Desi had killed just over a dozen guards before being overwhelmed. At the time she hadn’t wanted him to interfere, since she’d wanted to kill them herself. Sometimes, Desideria wondered if she had wanted to die that day. It was fortunate that Ezio Auditore _had_ come when he did, and now she was better trained than before and also had a purpose besides revenge.

The young woman came into the main room after her early morning training with sweat beading her forehead and the back of her shirt was soaked with it. She went to take a bath as she put water to boil in the fireplace in her room. When it was hot she poured the bucket into the tub of cold water to make it lukewarm, and as she started to strip there was a knock at her door. Desideria glanced balefully at it before moving to answer. Her ire increased at seeing Severino standing there. “What?” she snapped heatedly.

Severino’s right eyebrow lifted in a gesture of bemusement. The man was probably wondering what he’d done to get on her bad side. Desi’s blood boiled when he merely smirked at her agitation. “The Maestro wants us both in the main room. He says it’s urgent.” The young man’s eyes moved down to where she’d started to undo the fastening of her uniform and the smirk morphed into a taunting grin. “Did you want me to help you with that?”

He made the motion of reaching out, and froze as he felt the cold press of metal against his throat. “Alright, calmarsi! I wasn’t being serious!” Desideria’s answer was to step back into the room and slam the door in his face. Severino chuckled as he rubbed where the sharp knife had nicked him. “Always so friendly.” He left the way he’d come, and knew that Desi wouldn’t be too far behind. She had too much respect for the Maestro to refuse the man’s call. 

~o~

They were riding hard through the streets of the city, people screaming as they jumped out of their path lest they get trampled. Normally, they’d never gallop full out within the city, but they were pressed for time. They had to get to their destination before noon or an injustice would be done. There was to be a public execution happening today, and the men were considered enemies of Roma and the church. Usually, that meant ‘enemies of the Borgia’, and freeing those allies would benefit their cause. So, they needed to get there before they were hanged.

Desi’s blood was singing in her veins and ears with the adrenaline coursing through her body. She wasn’t sure which excited her more, the prospect of saving those four men, or the anticipation of killing corrupt guards working for the Borgia. It was hard to tell and a tremor of an indescribable feeling went through her, and it filled her with an anxiousness that she couldn’t name. So, to be safe, she would concentrate on the good they were doing by stopping this execution.

The young woman glanced briefly at Severino and saw that his eyes were fixed ahead of him as he rode alongside of Desideria. He trained most of the day as well, but out in the courtyard on the third floor. Severino always finished before her, took his bath with hot water, and then ate a simple meal. Afterwards, he would spend his time doing intellectual training. He would go into the library and read, and studied everything he could get his hands on. Desi herself had never had much interest in learning these types of things. She had always learned the practical way, and suspected that she always would.

It wasn’t a matter of not being smart enough because she knew how to read and do simple math in her head. As long as she could read and write, then she needed nothing more. However, even as a girl she had wanted to be out there and have adventures, instead of reading about them.

Desideria turned her attention back to the road ahead of her, and braced herself as the horse jumped over a cart in their way. She saw that soon they’d arrive at the Piazza del Popolo, which was the same place she’d first seen the Maestro fight. If she were to go down the alleyway they were approaching and to the street it let out into, she would be able to find where the guards had harassed her, and she’d gotten the first glimpse of the Assassin tracking its prey. That seemed a lifetime ago and to an innocence she had lost when her hands had been stained in blood, and if she could go back then...

Well, the past was just that, the past, and it was as unchanging as the mountains.

The Maestro jumped from his horse mid-gallop and killed a guard as he used his body like a cushion to soften his fall. There was already fighting in the piazza as they had arrived, a man and a woman fought back to back in sync while the guards circled the duo. Desideria and Severino rode into the otherwise empty piazza, which had surely been populated with people who wanted to see the execution, but had most likely dispersed when the fighting started. She saw that the hooded executioner had been shot through with a crossbow bolt as well as the official that would have given the order of execution. The condemned men were still tied by their necks up on the gallows, but they seemed to be trying to get free but were too far away from one another to release their bonds.

Her head snapped toward Severino as he was pulled off his horse, but calmed when he blocked the soldiers’ killing blow before kicking the other man’s legs from under him. Severino wasted no time in jumping on him and stabbing his own hidden blade into his throat, and then quickly rolled away when another soldier attacked him.

Desi dismissed the man now that he wasn’t in danger, and killed a soldier that was trying to unseat her as well. She nudged the horse into a gallop toward the gallows, swinging off the saddle and quickly climbed onto the stage. The men tensed at her approach, but she only cut the first noose and after that they knew she wouldn’t harm them. Well, she may still harm them if they proved useless. After all, she had enough of that with Severino, and didn’t think she’d resist more without killing someone.

Once she had cut all four nooses, she glanced at the men; all older than her. “Either runaway or stand and fight, but my job is done.” Desideria turned away, running and jumping off the end of the stage, and came down with her sword on the head of an unsuspecting soldier. The young woman didn’t feel any which way when they joined the battle with their recovered weapons, which had been confiscated and held by the official. After that, it was easy for the nine of them to defeat the rest of the soldiers.

The two that had been fighting when they arrived approached the three of them. It was the attractive young man that opened his mouth to speak and shake their hands, while the woman watched them warily but silently. “I don’t know your reasons for helping us, but I’m very grateful. May I ask your names?” It didn’t escape Desideria’s notice that they hadn’t mentioned their own names, and knew the Maestro would see as well.

It was a testament to the Maestro’s fearlessness that he freely gave his name without worrying about whether they could be trusted. “Ezio Auditore,” he introduced himself in his deep voice. “And any enemy of the Borgia is a friend to us, because the liberation of Roma has begun.” The duo exchanged glances at his words and the woman made a motion with her hand toward her ear, and the man nodded. “We have need of individuals such as you both.”

The male of the pair looked at the female once more, and she lifted a hand to her mouth with a cutting motion, and then pointed at the four behind them. Augusto glanced at Agostino, Lorenzo, Domenico, and Giovanni before looking back at Ezio. “My sister and I are in your debt, and would like to join,” he hesitated as he glanced at his friends, “but the four men behind me will not join. They are my informants and are vigilantes, which is the main reason they were being hung today.

Desideria was about to speak, since they knew that the men were being hung for treason as soldiers of the city of Roma. However, a look from the Maestro silenced her, and instead she memorized all four men’s faces. It was obvious the duo didn’t trust them, which would extend to the others, but Desideria didn’t trust them either.

“Very well, amico. Welcome to the Brotherhood...”

“My name is Augusto Fornari, and this is my sister Fabiola.” Fabiola only nodded but said nothing once more. Augusto smiled toward the irate female recruit, and she saw a hint of amusement in his dark brown eyes. “My sister does not speak,” he informed them, but said nothing else on the matter.

Ezio stared at them individually for several moments in silence before he nodded, and turned to his recruits to dismiss them. “Look for Niccolo Machiavelli on Isola Tiberina, and we will make you one of us,” he said to the twins. He lifted a hand in farewell before mounting his horse and urging the animal into a slow gait. Desideria threw one last look at the six individuals and then followed after Severino whom had left as soon as the Maestro had. She got on her stallion and made it go into a cantor so she could come alongside of Ezio’s own horse.

“I do not trust them. They hold too many secrets.” Ezio only chuckled at her words, and he was close enough to pat her head as if she were some wayward child. “They are not enemies,” he reassured her confidently, and he sounded so sure that she felt compelled to believe him. If the Maestro had given them the benefit of the doubt then he had his reasons. Desi just hoped they did not betray that trust he’d given them.

“Besides,” he spoke again, interrupting her thoughts. “I have the perfect initiation mission for them.” Both recruits looked at him in interest, hoping to be privy to his plans. “They’re going to find the poison maker for me.” Ezio had gotten word that the good doctor, Malfatto sold an untraceable poison to some of Cesare’s people, and the man had sent an agent to recruit the man to the Templars. One of the reasons was the man’s skills as a murderer and a sadist, but mainly it was for that poison. Now, with Malfatto dead, they would go after the poison maker, which was the man’s niece. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman that had paralyzed Severino with a mere nick of her blade was the niece. Ezio wanted to get to her before the Templars, and get his hands on that poison as well. After all, an untraceable poison would be a valuable assassination tool.

Severino opened his mouth to protest, but Ezio held out a hand to forestall anything he was about to say. “I understand completely, Severino,” he reassured. “That’s why I want you to be their guide. You help them by showing them the house and identifying the target, but let them capture her. I’ll want a full assessment of their skills as well, so don’t let them out of your sight.” Desideria also wanted to be part of this mission, since she had a month’s worth of training more than Severino, however; in a way she also understood why he needed to do this alone. That woman had managed to paralyze him with ease through nothing more than a scratch of her dagger. Desi knew that he would be thinking of the outcome if she had used a poisoned knife, and if it had been her, that’s all she’d be thinking of. So, she would keep her mouth shut on the matter just this once, because she won’t deny that it had affected her.

When Severino had hit the ground after she had made the kill, she’d felt her heart stop for a moment, and while the Maestro had attended to their fallen comrade she had tried desperately to catch the woman. She had felt actual grief at losing her, since at the time Desi believed the other woman would have the antidote of whatever she’d poisoned him with. So, losing her was the same as letting a comrade die, and Desideria had felt like a failure. However, she had been so relieved when she had returned and Ezio had told her that Severino had only been paralyzed, and that it would wear off eventually. Desideria had tried to play it off as if she didn’t care, and chastised a still aware Severino for being a fool and letting that woman immobilize him. Ezio had worn a knowing smile but said nothing, and when Severino had recovered the man had been insufferable. He regaled her with compliments and playful declarations of love for having tried so hard to save him. The man had finally stopped after she’d snapped and sucker-punched him during one of those corny proclamations of love and friendship. Severino had a black eye for two days. 

~o~

Bianca Carsidoni. That was their targets’ name. They hadn’t been told why Ezio wanted her captured, nor what she had done. The man had simply said that it was part of the process to join them. The Assassin Brotherhood was the name of the organization, and Fabiola finally remembered where she had heard that name. She brought her brother the wanted poster, and his eyes lit in recognition. “The Heralds speak of him and say he’s a wicked man,” Augusto muttered. He watched his sister as she gazed intently at the poster and waited patiently for her thoughts. He knew she wouldn’t speak, but she could communicate without words.

Finally, she looked up at him and lifted a calm hand to rest on her chest, right above her heart, and then she pointed at the poster. _‘Good feeling about him’_ , and he understood what she wanted to say.

Augusto nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, taking the poster from her and ripping it in half. “We’ll trust them, and now it’s time to go meet with that recruit of his.” Fabiola smiled and hurried out of the room to kiss her son before leaving, and since Augusto had already been to see him, he went to get the horses ready. He was already astride his mare when she came outside, and there was nothing visible of her face. Ezio had given them both the black trimmed attire of the recruits. It molded to her lean body, and the hood cast her eyes into shadow, and a strip of cloth was secured up to the bridge of her nose. Augusto on the other hand had his hood down at the moment, but when it came time to pull it up, he would. His sister got on the saddle without assistance as she took up the reigns, and waited for him to lead the way.

The young man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and the horse started to move in the direction he indicated. They met with Severino Sabelli at the rendezvous point, which was the Ponte Cestio that connected the western part of Centro district to Isola Tiberina. It was where they had met with Niccolo Machiavelli a few days ago where the man had given them this particular mission. They were shown where the poison maker lived and had been told to bring in the young woman when Severino would identify her, since he’s the only one of the Assassins that had seen her besides the courtesans. So, they’d put the four men on a rotating watch until she appeared, and two nights ago she had shown up briefly before leaving, and today they’d wait to see if she returned.

Augusto had noticed that they hadn’t trusted them yet with the location of their hideout. It didn’t bother Augusto, since they hadn’t revealed where they were located, or any information on their lives. Although, he wondered that when they passed this test, if they would have to move into that hideout they guarded so closely. He had mixed feelings about the idea, since they were vulnerable where they four of them were staying. However, it wasn’t clear whether they’d allow them to bring Caterina or Giotto along. As Fabiola had signed, they would just sneak them in and worry about it later. After all, it was easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.

Severino hailed them from on top of his horse at the end of the bridge, with Isola Tiberina at his back. “The niece was last seen at her uncles’ stand, fleeing further into Centro,” he started off without a proper greeting, but it was obvious that he was simply anxious to get started. Fabiola didn’t know his reasons, and frankly, she didn’t want to know. Just because they were to be comrades, didn’t mean they would be friends. In the end, she had never truly had any friends growing up, and had grown accustomed to the solitude of the blacksmith shop. Even now, she was restless, and wanted to take up her tools once more. However, it was unclear when she would be able to practice her craft again, since Giovanni had informed them that the soldiers were looking for the twins.

It was the same letter that Ottavio had sent to incriminate Matteo’s men, had also contained information on them. The man had written that if he were to ever turn up dead, then it would be the twins that had killed them. So, she had to be careful on who she sold to if ever, since she doubted there were many female blacksmiths in Roma.

“What did she do?” Augusto asked at an insistent pushing by his sister. He knew that she wouldn’t want to hunt this girl unless it was for a valid reason. Augusto could understand her reasons, but they were only supposed to capture her and bring her in, so he wasn’t too concerned about it. By the look on Severino’s face, he had no sympathy for the girl either.

“Her uncle murdered several courtesans from the Rosa in Fiore, and the niece is believed to be an accomplice and creator of the poison used on several murders done by the Borgia. The Maestro wants her brought in and interrogated immediately and if possible sway her to our side.” The young man snorted sardonically. “If she helped him, then she should get the same treatment her uncle received.” He shrugged and pulled on the reins to turn the horse to the left. “In the end, I’m just following orders.”

The twins glanced at one another as Severino rode ahead, and it was Augusto that shrugged and followed, and Fabiola sighed and did the same. It seemed that she would have to be the one to make sure the other female made it to the interrogation, or else those two wolves would tear her apart. After hearing what her uncle had done, she wanted to hurt someone as well. However, if Bianca hadn’t known or been lied to, then Fabiola wouldn’t let them kill her just because of what her relative had done. It’d be the same as condemning Giotto for his father’s crimes. Although, she’d like to meet the idiot with the death wish that might dare try such a thing. Besides, Matteo was his real father; blood relation or not.

They dismounted in the back of the building two streets away from the doctor’s abandoned house, seeing as Giovanni had hailed them from the rooftop when they’d been a block away. It’d be foolish to ride up to the house and then the woman would be spooked and they’d lose this opportunity to capture her. Agostino and the other three men had been watching the house in twelve hour shifts, but there had been no movement in two weeks, until two nights ago. Lorenzo had spotted a slender figure skulking around the neighborhood. The blonde haired man had identified the figure as female, and seen her linger around the block but she hadn’t entered the house. When she had left, Lorenzo had sent a message via the pigeon coop near-by, which the bird would fly to a coop close to the twins’ safe house. They had then sent a message to Severino to meet with them tonight in case she showed her face again.

“Be careful of her weapons because they are likely to be coated wither either a paralyzing toxin, or poison,” Severino had warned as they’d been riding over. It had seemed to Fabiola as if he spoke from experience, and Fabiola wondered to herself if he had experienced the consequences of underestimating her. He was obviously still alive, so he must have gotten cut with the weapon coated with the incapacitating agent. So, she fairly understood his behavior, since it would had been a bruise on his ego. Well, ego or no, they needed her alive to pass this initiation mission. Hell, his actions might be part of the test, and they had to bring her in alive despite one of their allies wanting their target dead.

The siblings shared a look and it seemed as if Augusto had read her mind. He motioned the slightest bit toward Severino and closed one eye in a wink, and Fabiola gave a curt nod. So, they were in agreement in making sure the man didn’t ruin their mission.

~o~

Bianca knew she was taking a big risk by returning to the house, but she needed clothes, money, and several other items she’d been forced to leave behind. That same day Malfatto that had died, she had tried to return to the house and had seen two guards stationed in front of the house. So, she had left but had sworn to return when they’d gotten tired of waiting for her. The fiorini she had left had dwindled down to almost nothing, and she’d started pick-pocketing with great reluctance. Bianca hadn’t been caught, but it wasn’t something she felt right doing. The seeds she had stolen once had been one thing, but money was a whole different matter. Also, at the time, the doctor would have been angry if she returned empty handed.

So, she had snuck back to the neighborhood to make sure it wasn’t being watched, and she hadn’t seen a guard at the door or anywhere nearby besides the usual patrol. Bianca had left and decided to return two nights later just in case she’d been seen. It had to be done in the middle of the night to give her maximum cover of darkness. Once inside she would pack a knap sack with clothes and money, and her medicine bag with any medicine and herbs that were still good to use. Then Bianca would disappear and no one would ever hear from her again.

The house was silent and as still as death, and a shudder raced down her spine. She shook herself and took a deep breath to calm down, since she needed to get into that house. Bianca only hoped that the soldiers, or those people that had killed Malfatto, weren’t waiting for her. If they were she wouldn’t hesitate to use her poisoned throwing knives that were concealed in hidden sheaths beneath the material of her corset that was secured over the white blouse worn underneath. The handles were decorative and could easily be confused as embellishments on the corset. At her back she had daggers that were also dipped in the poison she’d concocted, which Bianca had never given a name to. At her boots she had a dagger in each that were coated with a paralyzing toxin, the same she’d used on that man whose companion had killed Malfatto. Bianca didn’t mourn his death, and was just glad that his reign of terror was over.

She silently slipped into the house, closing the door behind her, and hoped she hadn’t been spotted, and went as fast as she could. Her supplies were first and then her clothes, but as she had finished packing the knapsack, she heard the creaking sound of the front door opening. Bianca froze where she was standing, putting down both bags and withdrew a poisoned dagger in each hand while easing back into the shadows. She didn’t see a light from a torch or a lantern, so they were either ransacking the place and didn’t want to be seen, or they were here for her and didn’t want to alert her of their presence. The only sound heard was the hoot of an owl, and several minutes later Bianca heard footsteps. She readied to lunge toward them, aiming to kill because she refused to take any chances with her life.

She saw them before they noticed her, two taller figures quietly making their way in her direction. Bianca’s hands tightened around the handle of the dagger until her fingers felt numb as she waited for them to get close enough for her to strike. As they stepped within range, she tried to feel no remorse as she darted forward and attacked. One of her daggers caught the one on the left just under the ribs, and the slightly taller one through the throat just below the Adam’s apple. Within seconds they were dead, one from bleeding out and the other succumbed to the poison. Bianca pushed aside the curtain to let in a bit of moonlight and went to crouch at their sides. Her lips twisted down in a frown as she got a good look at the two she’d just killed.

~o~

_Earlier._

Giovanni was the first to spot the target approaching the house, and they all noticed that she was wearing the attire of a housemaid with her hair pulled up and pinned, and covered by a simple, white bonnet. It sent her features into shadow as she moved along, but as she passed under a torch her face was visible before she quickly ducked down. When Severino nodded, they knew it was her and when she entered the house, Fabiola and Augusto moved down the ladder to the alleyway besides the building.

They hurried down the alleyway until they were right across from the house. Her brother was about to move forward but Fabiola grabbed at his arm and pointed at her own self, and then the house. Augusto nodded reluctantly and the young woman darted across the street, stopping at the door and pushing it open as it creaked loudly than she would have hoped. As she was about to enter, the sound of her brother’s signal, which was the hoot of an owl made her head snap down the street. There were two soldiers moving steadily in her direction, and she abruptly abandoned her position in favor of the alleyway next to the house. Fabiola mentally cursed to herself as she realized she’d left the door open, and prayed they’d by-pass the house without noticing the gaping doorway. However, they came to halt right by the door, and after they exchanged a few whispered words, both went in. It seemed the Borgia also had the place guarded, and any changes were to be investigated and reported immediately. Fabiola figured that the open door was a significant change.

Fabiola had no clue what she was supposed to do as she was about to signal her brother, but before she could she heard a commotion from inside and the young woman sprang into action. She wouldn’t let these men kill her target, and would eliminate them if need be. Although, in the end she soon realized that there’d be no need for that as she came upon the other woman crouched besides the dead soldiers. Fabiola blew out her breath to ruffle her bangs and walked further into the room as Bianca’s eyes wildly darted to her. The poison maker’s hands were trembling around the hilt of her daggers as she pulled them out of the corpses. It was clear that having killed these men had caused her great anguish, and it was all the evidence that Fabiola needed to know. Bianca was clearly not her uncle’s accomplice. It didn’t mean Fabiola would let her go, since her mission was to capture Bianca Carsidoni. Although, she would ensure that no harm came to her.

Bianca lunged at her with a speed that rivaled her own, but Fabiola was stronger and better trained. So, when Augusto followed by Severino close behind made it to the house, Fabiola had Bianca disarmed and was in the process of tying her hands. Augusto’s had pulled his hood up just before they’d met up with Severino so the young woman wouldn’t recognize him, but now that he was closer he immediately knew the black haired woman as his mouth opened in surprise. Fabiola noticed his surprise and reminded herself to ask her brother about it later.

When Fabiola secured her hands tightly, she proceeded to search her for weapons. She was a bit impressed at the sheaths hidden within the bodice that held thin throwing knives, but the handles looked like decorative embellishments and not like the handles of weapons. Fabiola carefully and meticulously cut the sheaths out to avoid any unnecessary trouble. The tall girl was glad that Severino kept back and allowed her to handle Bianca’s search, and when she was sure there were no more weapons, she nodded and amiably patted the other female on the arm with a slight smile.

As she turned away from her and motioned for Severino to take her, she saw him shaking his head and stiffened. Fabiola heard the sound of a dagger being drawn and Augusto’s shout, and her brother was suddenly there. He grunted in pain and when she whirled around, it was to see Bianca with a dagger in her bound hands and it was embedded all the way to the hilt in Augusto’s shoulder. The poison maker couldn’t see the other female’s face except for two caramel eyes staring in disbelief as he crumpled to the floor. When Fabiola’s gaze shifted to her, Bianca flinched at what she saw there; she saw her death.

Bianca stumbled back as Fabiola lunged at her with sword in hand, her hand having been too fast that she didn’t even see her draw it and Bianca brought up the dagger to wildly defend. It was difficult with her hands tied, but had no time to cut her bindings and was just glad her feet weren’t impaired. She crashed into a chair, managed to keep her balance as she darted around it and kicked it at Fabiola to try and slow her down. The other female brought her sword down, and Bianca was stunned as it neatly cut the chair in half. The person that had forged the sword was an excellent craftsman, and if she wasn’t fighting for her life, she would have asked Fabiola who had made her sword. When the sword cut through her dagger as she defended, that admiration became fear.

During the entire confrontation, Severino had watched in amusement as the poison maker had to desperately defend herself from the mute girl. Now, as Fabiola dropped her sword and drew her dagger for an up and close kill, he felt that he should step in.

“Fabiola!” he shouted, seeing as she froze right as she was about to drive her dagger into Bianca’s throat, the other fingers of her hand pressed firmly against her clavicle. He crouched besides the young man and checked that he was still breathing. “Augusto is alive.” So, that meant Bianca had cut him with the same dagger she’d used on him. The other man would be immobilized for a good three hours, and said as much to Fabiola. “It’s the same thing she used before, and he should be alright in three hours.”

Fabiola turned her head to look at Severino over her shoulder, and the other had the sudden impulse to retreat. In the next few moments, he wished he would have obeyed his instincts. Fabiola turned back to face Bianca with slow, dangerous movements and took something from her hand, and snapped around to throw a projectile at him. Severino cursed loudly as the end of Bianca’s broken dagger slammed into the same shoulder where Augusto had been stabbed. As the numbness of the paralyzing agent took over, he collapsed and despite his predicament, he was impressed with Fabiola. She had thrown and managed to hit him with a weapon whose center of gravity had been drastically altered. It seemed that the information the Maestro had gotten of her being a master blacksmith was well founded. She was familiar enough with weapons to know when it wasn’t forged right, but also how to adjust to the imperfection.

Severino was helpless as Fabiola moved over to him, crouching besides him as he pushed back his hood to see his eyes and placing the edge of her own dagger to his throat. Bianca watched everything in silence and didn’t dare move from where the taller girl had cornered her against the wall. Meanwhile, Fabiola ran the cold, flat surface of her weapon along Severino’s neck, and then quickly nicked the skin. It wasn’t a life threatening wound, but would bleed sparsely. Then she leaned down while turning her head to look in his eyes, and pulling down her mask as if she would kiss him but it was so he could see her mouth. _‘You would have died as well,’_ she mouthed slowly so he could read her lips, and the hitch in his breathing was enough evidence that he’d understood her. He had known Bianca had a dagger in her boot and had said nothing.

She straightened and moved over to her brother, pushing back his hood to see that his eyes were wide open. The sweat beaded his brow indicated that he was likely trying to force his limbs to move with no success. Fabiola placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart beating a frantic tattoo against his ribcage. She made a shushing sound to try and get him to calm down, her hand moving to his cheek, and their eyes met over this distance. Fabiola smiled reassuringly at him before turning to Bianca, snapping her fingers and pointing to the spot next to her. The other young woman was looking at her in shock, but Fabiola had no time to deal with her. She unsheathed her dagger and used it to point to the space next to her, and Bianca immediately went to crouch besides her. When she saw Bianca’s eyes widen at seeing her brother’s face, it further confirmed her suspicion that they somehow knew one another.

Fabiola tried to communicate with Bianca that she wanted her to give Augusto the antidote, but didn’t understand the mute girl. She sighed in frustration and stopped trying to communicate and just pulled open the shirt of the recluta uniform he was wearing. The wound was still oozing blood and it wasn’t life threatening, but Bianca decided that it may be better to get that antidote injected into his system. Especially because Fabiola was insistent on it, and she’d already seen her angry and didn’t want a repeat performance.

Bianca tried to stand, but Fabiola’s hand caught her wrist in a tight hold. The shorter girl winced as the other’s fingers bit into her skin painfully. “The antidote is in my bag in the other room,” she explained, “and I’m just going to go get it.”

Her honey-colored eyes narrowed suspiciously on Bianca as she tried to appear unassuming. She wasn’t thinking of escaping, since she was sure there was someone else watching the house and doubted she’d get very far. The reason for wanting to go without Fabiola shadowing her every step was to retrieve Malfatto’s journal; which as she had discovered, was more like a journal. While it was a sure way to prove she wasn’t the man’s accomplice, it would also contain his medical notes, and the ingredients and instructions on how to make all the medicines he was familiar with. Perhaps if she managed to escape, or on the off chance they let her go, then with these notes and the knowledge she already knew, she could move to Venezia and start practicing medicine. Of course, she would have to adopt a disguise, but her small breasts would be easy to bind down, and using the doctor’s smock and plague mask, then no one would ever know her secret.

Her hopes were dashed as Fabiola stood, and placed her middle finger and thumb to her mouth and blew out a shrill whistle. Almost immediately, a figure appeared in the doorway and at a nod from Fabiola the man moved to Augusto, lifting him up easily and taking him to the nearest horizontal surface. Fabiola turned to Bianca and motioned for her lead the way. Bianca smiled uneasily but did as the other indicated and went immediately to her Malfatto’s room even knowing that everything would have gone bad by now with the exception of the herbs and certain mixtures.

She spotted the journal, which she’d learned the hard way, was his personal journal as well, and noticed that it had landed on the man’s bed. Bianca’s nose wrinkled in disgust since her puke had been left to fester for several days. After a moment, Bianca is forced to cover her nose, but when she glanced at Fabiola it was to see that she appeared unaffected. It was either because she was well-trained, or her sense of smell was as damaged as her throat seemed to be.

Bianca grabbed a bag that would have spare potions, and made sure to set it on the bed on top of the medium-sized book. That way, when she lifted the bag she could take the book and slip it inside without Fabiola noticing. However, before she could even open the bad, Fabiola was at her side, hand around her elbow as she pulled her away. Bianca’s heart skipped a beat when she lifted it to reveal the journal underneath, and then she turned to Bianca with a raised eyebrow. “I-it’s Malfatto’s medical journal,” she hurried to tell her as Fabiola picked it up. She motioned to the doctor’s bag. “All the medicines and elixirs have gone rancid, but in there it should have the ingredients and instructions for the antidote.”

Fabiola’s lips lifted in an amused grin before she lightly smacked Bianca upside the head with the book. The action was so reminiscent of her uncle that she flinched and cringed away. However, Fabiola had already cracked open the journal and was skimming through it. Bianca hoped she didn’t see the entries where he confessed his incestuous lust toward his own niece. Just the thought was enough to make the young medical practitioner sick to her stomach once more; and the smell wasn’t helping either. Luckily, she didn’t seem to be reading any of it and after a moment she snapped it closed.

The antidote wasn’t that difficult to make, and she could probably do it with her eyes closed. Malfatto had never given her credit for anything she had made before, so she knew she had to worry that the entry named her as having made the paralyzing agent in the first place. The reason she wanted to feign ignorance was that hoping that Fabiola would hand it over to her, and during a moment of distraction she could flee. However, with how suspicious Fabiola was after the incident with her brother a few minutes ago, she doubted she’d place any trust in her again.

Fabiola nodded and quickly shooed her out of the room so she could start on the antidote. Once more, Bianca was left wondering if the other woman was truly a mute, since she hadn’t spoken a single word yet. The only other time she had seen Fabiola was when she’d been unconscious on Malfatto’s examination table almost four years ago. Bianca remembered the young couple for a lot of reasons, and one had to be due to her stunning features. The young woman knew that while her eyes were very pretty and her hair straight and glossy, her face was quite plain. She didn’t compare to Fabiola’s beauty, and Bianca knew that if she had been a courtesan like her now deceased friends, then she’d likely have clients lining up to see her daily.

Bianca grabbed her own bags as they moved to the main room, since some of the herbs were still good and knew for a fact that she had all the ingredients necessary there to make the antidote. So, while Fabiola held the book open on the right page, she pretended to read it while staring a fire. In the middle of glancing back a fourth time, to which she was really reading and memorizing the instructions on a medicine, she saw Fabiola watching her with amusement lighting up her caramel eyes. For a moment Bianca wondered if she knew that her actions were just an act, and found it funny. “May I see the book more closely?” Fabiola’s slight smile turned into a twisted smirk and she shook her head. Perhaps she did know after all.

~o~

Augusto’s legs and toes still felt numb, and his hands and fingers tingled as they regained feeling. As he stood, his buckled and threatened to give way under him but Giovanni and Fabiola simultaneously reached out to steady him. As Fabiola silently fussed over him, he glanced at the poison maker, but she was busy checking her bags to make sure she had everything she wanted to take. Augusto had been stunned to realize that she was their target, and a bit alarmed to realize that Fabiola’s former doctor was the same that had killed those women. Although, despite any proof they may say they had, he doubted that Bianca had anything to do with it.

At the time of their first meeting, while her uncle had been curt and frigid in telling him that his sister had been raped, Bianca had been the polar opposite. When he had pushed through the curtain to retrieve Fabiola, he had paused as he spotted the young woman. She had finished dressing his sister, and one of her hands was brushing away a few stray strands of her hair from her face. Her fingers had been soft and comforting, and it almost seemed that she didn’t want to be too rough and cause her anymore pain than what she’d already went through. Then her words of advice when he had needed them the most had cemented his belief that she was a good-hearted person, and wasn’t capable of being an accomplice to senseless murder.

Augusto just hoped that Ezio Auditore was a man that could be reasoned with, or they wouldn’t relinquish their prisoner to him. Well, if push came to shove then they’d go back into their old plan of leaving Italy altogether, but with an extra addition to their group.

~o~

It was difficult to tell whether he was angry or not by what Augusto had just told him as a silent Fabiola stood at his side. She didn’t need to say anything for Augusto to know that at a nod from him, she’d release the two smoke bombs in her hands and they’d escape through the window in the confusion. Giovanni was positioned on the nearby rooftop, crossbow bolt aimed inside of the room, but not necessarily at anyone at the moment. Augusto didn’t want it to come to that, but he would do what was necessary to keep them safe.

“You’re telling me that not only did your sister paralyze my recluta, but you’ve hidden him and won’t tell us his location unless I ensure Bianca Carsidoni’s safety. Is that about right?” When they both nodded he gave a chuckle that sent a slight shiver down both siblings’ spines. “What makes you think I won’t just force the information out of you?”

Augusto had already known that this was a likely possibility, which is the reason he’d prepared an escape plan. He would never let anyone harm his sister ever again while he still had breath in his lungs. “We don’t wish to harm Messere Sabelli,” he reassured so things wouldn’t escalate out of control. Already, he could see Desideria twitching in the corner as her fingers curled and uncurled around the hilt of her dagger. “However, we will also not allow you to harm an innocent woman.”

Ezio stood from the chair he’d been sitting in, slamming his hands down on the table. “Che Cosa? Innocent?” he asked incredulously. “Malfatto tortured and murdered the courtesans of the Rosa in Fiore. An act that one of the women ensures was facilitated by Bianca Carsidoni.” At that moment, Fabiola slipped a hand into the pouch at her side while simultaneously releasing the smoke bomb to grab the journal.

Desideria, who had been listening with barely restrained anger, almost lunged at her since it looked like she was reaching for a weapon. “Sosta!” Ezio snapped, and the young woman halted as she’d drawn her dagger. Bianca calmly turned to look at her with a huffing laugh, and merely ignored her as she took out the book.

“In here you’ll find the truth in Malfatto’s own words. Careful,” he warned, “it’s a bit hard to stomach.” Fabiola tossed it on the desk before Ezio, and both knew they were taking a gamble. The older man was frighteningly skilled, and he’s sure to have been training Desideria the same way. So, if he decided that he didn’t want to listen to the twins, then Augusto’s plan may not be enough for them to escape.

Ezio gave another chuckle and a sigh that seemed a bit exasperated as he sat in his chair once more. “I will read it, but I want Severino brought here before I finish. So, signal your _informant_ on the rooftop to bring him here, and Fabiola, kindly put the remaining smoke bomb in your hand away and have a seat.” The Fornari siblings were momentarily stunned into silence before Augusto moved to the window. Fabiola glanced pointedly at Desideria, and only returned the smoke bomb to her pouch when the other girl had sheathed her dagger. The twins took a seat while Desideria remained standing behind Ezio as the man started to read the journal. There were several pages he skimmed through, but read everything that appeared to be a journal entry. When he reached the ones they wanted him to read, his lips thinned into a bloodless line. After two more entries he closed the book with a snap and a disgusted look on his face. Augusto didn’t blame him, since he hadn’t even been able to finish one particular gruesome entry. Fabiola, on the other hand, had read every one unflinchingly, and confirmed to Augusto that Bianca was innocent. Now, hopefully Ezio would realize this as well.

“Where is Bianca now?” he asked, and his tone had the undercurrent of a warning. They were starting to learn that the man did not appreciate being lied to. He also didn’t like his hand being forced, but hopefully he would see that they had done it with the best intentions.

“She’s with Severino now and should have already given him the antidote. Now, my sister didn’t mean for Messere Severino to get-” Augusto was interrupted by Fabiola’s angry hiss as she nodded furiously. She tapped her temple twice and then placed a hand to the sheath of her dagger. “Knew about the dagger,” he translated for the other two that wouldn’t understand her. Augusto grunted as Fabiola suddenly pulled his shirt open to reveal the bandages that covered the wound where Bianca had stabbed him. “Severino knew about the dagger Bianca had with the paralyzing toxin.” Fabiola tapped her lips with two fingers before moving the digits outwards. “He didn’t say anything.”

Fabiola pointed at herself, curled her fingers into a ball and smacked the sheath again, and then gave one solid hit to her shoulder with her fist. “She took revenge by stabbing him with the same dagger.” Fabiola nodded once to confirm what her brother had said with a huff.

The room was silent for all of three seconds before Ezio roared in laughter, and Augusto glanced discreetly at his sister. The young man knew that despite her lack of speech, his sister wasn’t the same scared girl she’d been, but regardless he couldn’t help checking to make sure she wasn’t startled by the loud laughter. However, the amused smile on her lips was all he perceived from her. Desideria looked a bit gleeful herself. Augusto wondered what had gotten her into such a mood, and had no idea of the silent truce that had formed between the two women; for the purpose of Severino’s misery.

A mile from the safe house, Severino Sabelli shuddered as Agostino glanced at him curiously and Bianca arched a brow in question. The young man waved them off as the three of them continued on, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread he felt.

~o~

Bianca stood in the bare room looking down at the recluta uniform she’d been given. Ezio Auditore had given a speech about freeing Roma from the corrupt rule of Rodrigo Borgia, otherwise known as Alexander VI. She had agreed to join simply because there was nowhere else for her to go. Even if she returned to Venezia, Bianca was afraid of what she’d find there after learning of her uncle’s treachery. She was certain that all her questions would be answered when she read that journal, but it was in Ezio’s possession right now.

The man had wanted to write the instructions of the medicines as well as the paralyzing toxin and antidote in case things got out of hand between his recruits, and someone ended up paralyzed. He’d told her that he would send one of the others to return it to her. Bianca hoped that it wasn’t Severino or Desideria, since neither of them seemed to like her too much. Well, she hadn’t joined to make friends here. All her friends were dead; Malfatto had killed them.

A knocked startled her out of her thoughts and wondered how long she’d been standing there brooding on the past. It was already well past sunset, and she realized that she was hungry. Bianca couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, and she suddenly remembered that Ezio had told her that dinner was served food ten minutes before sunrise. Well, she doubted there was anything left over, and a sigh passed her lips as she went to open the door at the second knock.

Bianca was a bit startled to see Fabiola in the hallway, the journal in one hand and a bowl of food in the other. “Is that for me?” The other nodded and Bianca sighed once again and opened the door farther to allow Fabiola to enter. “Just put both on the desk.”

Fabiola strode over to the desk and laid both the bowl and journal in the middle of it. Bianca frowned when she stood there with her back toward her before she breathed in, and then turned to look anxiously at Bianca. “What is it? What do you want?” Fabiola opened her mouth but closed it quickly afterwards. She pointed at Bianca and then made a motion across her chest which she didn’t understand. The medical practitioner shook her head when she repeated the motions. “I don’t understand you,” she dead panned.

The mute girl huffed in irritation and turned around to look for something. Bianca soon realized that it was a sheet of parchment, and using a quill, she quickly wrote out a question.

_‘Are you a doctor?’_

Bianca was surprised she could write, since from that first one-sided meeting the other female had been wearing a pretty, but very simple dress. It had screamed poor, but just not devastatingly poor. Also, that carriage of theirs had looked to be on the brink of falling apart. It was unusual for a poor family to have children who could read and write. “No, I’m not a doctor, but Malfatto taught me enough to pass for one.” Her eyes moved to the journal, and preferred to omit the part where she’d be able to fool anyone into believing she was a doctor by using his notes and medicines.

Fabiola looked intently at her and was about to ‘speak’ something in her peculiar way, but caught herself and wrote it out instead. _‘Did you stay with me because you might have sensed he wanted to do something to me?’_ Bianca was confused by the question until Fabiola tapped a finger on the journal. The blood drained from her face as she realized that Fabiola had read the journal; Malfatto’s entries on _her_.

The young woman must have seen something on Bianca’s face or noticed how pale she’d gotten, and immediately straightened with a look of regret on her face. She put her hands together and moved them up and down. Bianca realized that it was her way of apologizing for having upset her. Then she brought her hands up to her chest and intertwined the fingers. “Please?” she asked uncertainly, and Fabiola nodded enthusiastically. Her lips twitched slightly at realizing she was starting to slowly understand her way of speaking. So, when the other female put her hands palms up and motioned toward her, she was keen to try and figure out what she was trying to say.

“Pass? Offer?” Fabiola groaned in exasperation and shook her head at both words, and did the motion once more. Bianca grew frustrated when she couldn’t figure it out as she frowned. “I don’t know what you are trying to say.”

Fabiola grabbed the parchment and hastily scribbled one word, _help_. Bianca frowned and looked back at Fabiola. “Help you with what?” Fabiola rubbed her stomach and then pretended to throw up. Bianca’s first thought was that Augusto was ill or that perhaps he was having a reaction to the antidote she’d given him. However, the other shook her head in denial to her inquiry.

“If not Augusto, then who else is sick?” The young doctor to be was taken aback as Fabiola moved toward her, grabbing her by the elbow and trying to drag her out of the room. “What? Where are you taking me?” When she resisted, Fabiola realized that she wouldn’t go until she told her what was happening, but Fabiola couldn’t wait any longer. Suddenly, she spied the woman’s bag and lunged toward it, and dodged as Bianca predictably tried to snatch it out of her hands. Fabiola smirked as Bianca glared at her but she jerked her head toward the door as she hurried out the door with Bianca hot on her heels.

There were seven doors on either side of the hallway, and Fabiola went into the door that was farthest from the door that led to the bottom levels. She went in and Bianca didn’t hesitate to follow her inside, even knowing this was either her room or Augusto, or maybe they shared. Bianca came to a stop in the doorway when she saw a child in the bed, Augusto pacing back and forth, and another woman sitting by the bed while she held the child’s hand.

“What is going on? Who does this child belong to?” Fabiola made an open palmed motion toward herself before placing it on her chest. _Mine._ Bianca’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as they disappeared under her bangs. “Is he the one that needs my help?” Fabiola’s only answer was putting Bianca’s bag into her hands. Bianca inhaled deeply and nodded. “Alright,” she sighed. “What are his symptoms?”

The woman holding the boy’s hand spoke up as Augusto looked at the child, having stopped pacing as soon as he spotted Bianca. “He’s been throwing up a lot, but there’s no fever and he was crying about a stomach ache.” Bianca thought that it sounded as if possibly something he’d eaten had made him sick. Her herbs and remedies would cure him, but it might make him sicker before he got better. So, she wanted to make sure she knew what exactly had affected him before giving him anything.

Bianca warily approached the bed and when neither of them tried to stop her, she moved with more confidence. The young woman sat at his right and gave the quiet child a smile to put him at ease, and was pleased when he returned it with a shy smile. “Buona sera, piccoli,” she greeted cheerfully as he stared up at her with Fabiola’s eyes. Bianca did the math from when the young woman had been raped, and the fact that the child looked like neither Augusto nor Fabiola and came to one conclusion; this boy’s father was the one that had raped Fabiola.

She pulled back the covers and then pushed up his night shirt so she could knead and press down on his stomach. “Does that hurt, cuore dolce?” she asked, and he shook his head. Also, he hadn’t winced or cried out, so there was no injury to his insides, and it lead her back to her initial assessment that he’d eaten something that made him sick. He glanced at the other woman, having already guessed that she was the child’s nanny or nurse maid. “What was the last thing he ate and drank before he started getting sick?”

“He ate bread, cheese, and some milk.” She paused and thought for a moment. “Oh, I just remembered. He was playing outside today and he had some berries in his hand. I think they were bright orange or bright red, but I’m not too sure.”

Bianca frowned at the description and opened her bag to take out her medium log book. Malfatto had made her study several plants, both poisonous and benign. During her extensive research in trying to perfect her poison, she had written several things down here including several types of berries. Also, she had sketched several poisonous plants along with berries and the leaves from which they could be identified. Now, she pulled it out to try and get the woman to identify the berries the child may have ingested. When she pointed to what the woman was sure were the berries and the leaves they had contained, Bianca sighed. “It’s just as I thought. Orange candle flower; very poisonous.”

Fabiola made a distressed sound at the back of her throat, and Bianca hurried to reassure her. “But by the looks, he only ate one or possibly two, and vomiting probably already started to get it out of his system. I’m going to give him a purging agent, but only a few drops since he’s so small and that’s all he’ll need.” She took out a capped vial and removed the stopper, and brought it up to the boy’s lips. The older woman helped the boy sit up and Bianca tipped it so only four drops landed on his tongue. She quickly capped the vial with the wooden stopper so it wouldn’t get any more air, and placed it back inside her bag. “This will make him throw up again, but that’s just the purging medicine taking affect. If he vomits blood, or his bowel movement or urine has blood in it, then come and get me or another doctor immediately.”

The mother of the child had been hovering over Bianca’s shoulder and stopped back as Bianca stood. Fabiola took the other’s hand into both of hers and shook it vigorously. Bianca was a bit amazed as her whole body moved with the motion and realized how strong Fabiola really was. Then she was startled as Fabiola took the money pouch from her belt and tried to hand it to her, insisting even as Bianca tried to refuse so much money. In the end, she had to accept because Fabiola wouldn’t let her refuse. The young woman must love her son dearly, despite who his father was.

At the door, Bianca snuck a glance over her shoulder and saw Augusto hovering over the bed with an anxious look on his face. He seemed to be beside himself with worry, and she realized the young man had taken her advice to heart. Fabiola may not have told him anything of her rape judging by her current muteness, but he clearly loved that boy. It was good to know they were happy together, and now, if only she didn’t find herself attracted to the young man, then everything would be fine. Especially since Bianca generally liked Fabiola as a person despite the other having almost murdered her, and one day they could have been friends. However, perhaps she wasn’t meant to have friendships or a relationship, and all she would have was her medicine.

Bianca sighed wearily before turning and leaving the room so she could get back to what was surely a cold dinner by now. And her attention had been completely on Augusto, and she didn’t notice Fabiola’s calculating gaze on her. The female part of the twins would corner her brother later and find out what his relation was to the poison maker, and she would decide then if it was necessary for her to get involved. Fabiola knew that Augusto would never admit to feeling attraction to another woman after the whole debacle with Ginevra, and finding out how she had treated Fabiola all those years. However, Bianca didn’t appear to be anything like that she-devil.

Also, Bianca didn’t seem to be bursting with the need to say anything despite the stolen glances toward her brother she’d seen. Fabiola suspected that her uncle’s crimes and the belief that she had been putting those women in danger had a lot to do with it. Well, she’d just have to play matchmaker and incorporate herself into Bianca’s life as her new best friend. After first she had been unsure of their relationship with one another, and it had been Malfatto’s journal of all things that had given her the insight she needed. In one of the entries, the man had mentioned Augusto asking about her niece several times and inquiring about her well-being. The sick-minded man had been angered by this, since it seemed he had already ‘taken care’ of men that had come as suitors for the young woman. Luckily, Augusto had never come in as a patient, and thus the man had never poisoned him, something that Fabiola was very grateful for.

Fabiola remembered that Augusto had been deeply worried when they’d found out that Ottavio had gone after the doctor in his search of Fabiola and Giotto, and was relieved when the doctor had brutally but systematically killed the guards before both of them disappeared. So, it was clear that her brother was interested in Bianca, so she wouldn’t feel too guilty about manipulating them to get them together. Of course, it was a bit selfish of her to think it, but it’d be useful having Augusto romantically involved with someone as well trained in medicine as Bianca was. After all, despite Malfatto’s crimes, had been an excellent doctor. It was a relief that a knowledge in medicine was the only thing he had taught her, but from his journal entries Fabiola had gleaned that he had loved the girl; in his own sick, twisted way.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> calmarsi - calm down; settle down  
> Ponte Cestio - Cestius’ Bridge;  
> Che Cosa - what  
> Sosta - Stop, halt  
> Buona sera, piccoli - good evening, child/little one
> 
> Orange candle flower - Also known as Italian arum; it has arrow or spear shaped leaves that are veined with mid-green to white. In early summer, white spathes of flowers are followed by spikes or bright orange red berries. Ingesting the berries can cause severe discomfort or illness, and the sap may irritate the skin.
> 
> http://www(.)monrovia(.)com/img/plants/3530/d/5913-orange-candleflower-full-shot(.)jpg


	18. Tratta di Persone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The Assassin’s Creed Wikia states that Silvestro Sabbatini lost his left arm because Cesare had Micheletto slice it off as punishment after failing in a mission involving a courtesan. I always thought it involved Fiora Cavazza in a way, but there’s no mention of it. However, I wanted to stay away from this particular character because I never did like him. So, lo and behold, this chapter was born. The title was left untranslated for a reason. Enjoy.

**Chapter Eighteen:** _Tratta di Persone_

_1493_

“Where did you find him?”

“He was lying on the ground in an alleyway, and we found him by accident. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

“Go fetch the doctor. He needs to live...”

Vittorio’s eyes fluttered open for a moment as he felt hands lifting him and moaned as he felt the knife get pulled out of his back. His eyesight was blurry so he couldn’t distinguish the people that surrounded him. “It’s alright, bambino,” a voice reassured him as a hand pushed back the sweaty strands of his hair. “You’re safe.” His eyes grew heavier and couldn’t stay conscious any longer, and he dreamed.

~o~

_‘I came back just for you, Vittorio.’_

_‘Are you calling me a liar?’_

_‘But I will never let you hurt my son again!’_

_‘I love you, Vittorio...’_

~o~

A choking gasp signaled his return to consciousness as he lifted his head and realized he was lying face down on a cot in a stifling hot room as sweat dotted his forehead and face. Vittorio had no idea where he was, but he knew that the sweat covering his entire body had more to do with the nightmares that had plagued him. As he moved to look around the room, a slightly damp rag from the back of his head, and wondered if it was due to a fever he may have suffered.

Vittorio groggily looked around the room he was in with only his right eye since the other was covered by something, and saw sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shabby shutters and door. The youth had certainly been in far better places than this wretched room, but at the moment he was too tired and in too much pain to really care. He only cared about finding out where this place was, and if he was safe here. Vittorio didn’t think Carlo or someone associated with him had found him, or he would more than likely be dead by now.

The youth had just managed to stand on shaky legs without vomiting from the pain when the door opened, and it startled him so badly that he lost his balance and fell to the ground. He would never admit to the small sob that escaped his mouth as his wound was jarred, and he heaved with the abrupt change of position but managed to swallow the bile crawling up his esophagus. Vittorio flinched away from the hand that tried to help him to his feet. “Peace, ragazzo,” someone murmured, the voice of a young man.

When he tilted his head back, it was confirmed that he was maybe eighteen, or nineteen, possibly twenty. His messy and most likely unwashed dark brown hair was stuffed under a hat, or a head warmer of some kind. The pants and shirt were brown and dark blue respectively, and his boots were well worn. His hands were gloveless and were calloused to indicate that he’d worked for most of his life. “Are you alright? Do you need help getting up?” he asked this time, brown eyes watching him closely.

Vittorio grunted rather than answer, but it was mostly because he was in so much pain that he didn’t dare open his mouth in case another embarrassing sound escaped. So, he gritted his teeth and slowly started to get to his feet. Besides, he didn’t know this person, and thus didn’t trust him. Vittorio doubted there was anyone he trusted anymore.

The youth frowned as he looked around for his shirt, since he’d only been wearing his trousers, but that probably had to do with the bandages wrapped around his torso. That meant they’d removed the knife and then treated his wound, so perhaps they weren’t involved with Carlo. However, he was no fool and finding out their motives was the first thing he planned on asking. Also, he wanted to leave now that he was awake, but the unbearable throb that had started when he had fallen had grown stronger. Vittorio closed his eyes in an effort to try and bear the pain, but instead of darkness he could only see the sunlight burning red hot through his eyelids.

“Are you alright?” the young man asked, and it felt like he was hearing the words from underwater. Vittorio’s vision was getting blurrier the longer he stayed on his feet, and he was so tired. However, he refused to lie back down and close his eyes, and entrust his life into the hands of complete strangers. “The doctor said you should rest.” Vittorio hadn’t realized that he’d managed to get so close to him until he felt his hand at his elbow, trying to steer him away like some damned woman.

Vittorio growled in annoyance and jerked his arm away, but it was a mistake as his head spun and the world lurch sideways. The young man shouted as he lunged forward and caught the boy as he collapsed. He sighed as he lifted the unconscious youth into his arms and moved back to the bed before laying him down. “Stubborn ragazzo,” he hissed, making sure to set him on his stomach. When he was sure his limbs were angled right, he leaned down to pull back the bandages to make sure the stitches hadn’t come out, and he sighed in relief when he saw that they were intact.

The man glanced at the doorway as he heard a creak and frowned. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from here, fratellino?” There was no answer as his lips twisted in displeasure. “Elio,” he called in warning. After a heartbeat, a small figure came into view at the doorway and was wearing similar clothing in how worn and raggedly they were. He also had the same dark brown hair as him, but his eyes were a brilliant blue which he’d inherited from his mother. “I told you to stay away from here.”

Elio sulked by the open door as he scuffed his boot against the ground. “Mi dispiace, Alejandro, but Aldo said the one you saved was La Volpe’s son, which is the reason he needs to be protected. So, I wanted to see the piccoli Volpe.”

Alejandro cursed the seventeen year old thief for putting ridiculous ideas into his younger brother’s head. If the adolescent didn’t have such a protective older brother, then he would teach the arrogant little fool a lesson. “He is not La Volpe’s son,” he corrected. He straightened from where he’d been inspecting Vittorio’s stitches. “He is just a young boy we saved after we found him injured on the streets.” The other looked disappointed, but he nodded his head. Alejandro knew that the boy had been excited to see at least someone that was related to the infamous thief, since he had never seen the man himself.

The obsession for meeting or catching a glimpse of the thief had come from the story of his birth. Elio’s mother had gone to market despite being almost eight months pregnant, and had been harassed by some guards for supposedly stealing something. The stress had caused her to go into premature labor, and La Volpe had swooped in, killing the guards and rushing the woman to a nearby doctor. His father had been eternally grateful and sworn to serve the thief until his dying breath. When La Volpe had left Firenze and relocated to Roma, the man had moved his whole family there as well. Alejandro had met him and understood why his father was loyal to him. When Elio had heard the story a few months ago, he had wanted to meet the man but these were difficult times and it was no time to ask La Volpe to abandon his duties just to meet the ten year old.

Alejandro was about to say something when their father appeared in the doorway. “Are you both having a party in here?” he asked with amusement. Mario Petaccia was a tall, broad-shouldered man that didn’t seem capable of being able to be an effective thief. However, the man was light on his feet and could disappear in the blink of an eye from anyone that was pursuing him for whatever reason. He was six feet tall with salt and pepper hair and mustache, and he had large hands that had wiped away their tears and comforted them when they’d been children. It was those same hands that they’d soon learned could also knock a man out with a single punch, and steal your money pouch and you wouldn’t even notice until he was already several streets away.

“No, I was simply telling Elio that Aldo was merely having some fun at his expense, and that the ragazzo isn’t related to La Volpe in anyway.” Mario sighed as he glanced at the young boy, who crossed his arms over his chest with a petulant pout. The man simply reached over and ruffled his hair as he groaned in annoyance at being treated like a child before fleeing the room. “Why does my fratellino have to learn from Aldo? I can teach him what he needs to know! Che stolto! If his brother wasn’t so overprotective, then I’d teach him a lesson!”

Mario had moved further into the room to check on Vittorio and chuckled at the young man’s ranting. “He reminds me of someone I know,” he joked. He turned to face his oldest son and saw a look of confusion on his face, and it only increased his amusement that the other didn’t realize how much of a doting older brother he was. “You have other things you have to do, and don’t have time to be playing nanny to your brother. That’s what the novice thieves are for.”

Alejandro huffed in annoyance as he pulled off his hat, pushed a hand through his hair, and then shoved it back on his head. “So, I can’t take care of my brother, but I have to take care of this raggazzo?” he asked irritably.

The older man shook his head. “No, there’s something else that I need you to do.”

He glanced at unconscious fourteen year old boy. “Then who will look after him?” The young man’s father was about to respond but Elio crashed through the door.

“Father, there’s a lot of guards down the block!” he gasped, clearly having ran here from where he had been before spotting the guards.

Neither man hesitated as they ran outside. “Stay with the brat!” Mario shouted at his youngest before they disappeared from sight. Elio looked at Vittorio’s motionless body and hurried over as he grabbed a shirt and started to put it on the other. He’d just managed to get his shirt on him when the two men returned. “Elio, help me!” The young man and the boy sat Vittorio up and then draped him over Alejandro’s back while Mario kept watch at the door.

“Hurry!” he hissed at them urgently. Elio was scared but he knew enough not to ask what was happening, and only to obey what his father and older brother were telling him. When Alejandro had a firm hold on the fourteen year old, he moved to the door but paused as Mario held out his hand while looking around the corner of the door. As he flicked his hand forward, he was a blur of motion as he ran silently out the door and Alejandro and Elio weren’t too far behind him. They were several streets away before the soldiers entered the abandoned hideout, but all they found were a few blood-stained bandages.

~o~

Elio collapsed on the bed several hours later as dawn approached, and didn’t want to think about moving for the rest of the day. An exhausted Alejandro deposited Vittorio a bit unceremoniously on an adjacent bed, and the youth groaned in pain but didn’t wake. The young man looked guilty about his rough treatment of Vittorio and quickly rearranged his limbs into a more comfortable position. He draped a blanket over him before affectionately ruffling his hair as he’d done countless times to Elio. The ten year old tried not to feel too jealous because Alejandro was _his_ brother. However, as he glanced at Vittorio’s pale face and the bandages that covered it which had started to become stained with blood, he let it go. The older boy was suffering and if they didn’t care for him, then nobody would.

“Get some sleep, rospo,” Alejandro teased as he also ruffled his hair after snatching his hat from his head. Elio wrinkled his nose in annoyance at the nickname, swatting at his hand when he tried to attack his already tousled hair once more. “I’ll wake you later today to start your lessons.” His little brother whined like a spoiled brat, and he chuckled in amusement. “I’ll be teaching you for the next few days until we can find another novice thief to show you.”

Elio cheered happily at this news as his loud voice caused Vittorio to flinch in his sleep, and Alejandro quickly shushed him. “Mi dispiace,” he apologized remorsefully. He pouted when Alejandro lightly flicked his forehead as punishment as he rubbed it dejectedly.

Alejandro smirked and brought their foreheads together. “Go to sleep fratellino.” The young boy obeyed and he waited until he was under his own covers before leaving the room. Mario was waiting for him outside, drinking from a water canteen to which he offered his oldest son when he was done. Alejandro took it with a word of thanks and drank heavily from it. “Were they looking for someone specifically?” he asked his father.

“I couldn’t tell you, but La Volpe wants to be sure.” He leveled him with a sideways glance. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can do a quick information gathering mission?” Alejandro was actually pretty tired since he had to carry Vittorio most of the night while avoiding patrols to get to this safe house in Antico district. However, this had to be serious if La Volpe himself had asked. The man had probably been speaking to Mario while Alejandro had put the boys to bed, and left before he’d come out. La Volpe was very particular on whom he spoke to and Alejandro wasn’t privy to that trust yet, and probably never would be.

“I’ll go, but what about Elio and the monello?” he asked, Mario smirking at the moniker he gave the fourteen year old.

Mario glanced inside of the room where he could now hear Elio snoring softly. “I doubt either of them will wake anytime soon, and I’ll watch over them until you return.” He turned back to his son as his eyes hardened. “I don’t want you to take any risks. If you’re spotted, then you flee and get back here after you are sure you aren’t being followed.”

Alejandro nodded seriously at his father’s words, taking another long pull of the water. “I understand, padre,” he said, handing the water canteen back. “I’ll take Paolo with me.” He had already planned to meet to pick-pocket a few rich nobles in Centro before they’d had to flee the night before, so he needed to go inform them they were alright. Although, he was sure someone had already passed the news along, but they’d been friends a long time and he owed him the courtesy of showing his face.

When his father didn’t object, he grinned and the older man brought their foreheads together much in the same way he’d done with Elio. “Be safe,” he murmured. It was something their mother had done with each of the members of their family when they parted ways for whatever reason, and even after her death a year ago, they still did it in her memory. Alejandro nodded before he darted away and out of sight around the corner.

~o~

Vittorio woke up in a different place a day later, but not that he realized it at first since it looked about the same. The only reason he knew was that the door was in a different place, and now there was only a single window. This is the reason he woke up, since the heat of the summer day had not allowed him to sleep. At first he thought he was alone, but that was soon proven wrong as he heard a snore from the bed adjacent to his. Vittorio had thought it was just a blanket bunched up on the bed, but then it was kicked off with a whine to reveal a younger boy in it. Clearly, he had gotten too hot and thus he had kicked off the blanket in his sleep.

The fourteen-year-old sat up slowly, mindful of his back injury, and then stood on unsteady feet. His trek to the door was painfully slow, and once he’d gotten there he pushed open the door so that fresh air could enter. Vittorio frowned as the door hit something with a resounding thwack. “Cazzo!” someone cursed, pushing the door back a bit. “Who’s the figlio di puttana that hit me with the door?”

He arched a brow as the young man from the other day came around the door, pausing as he caught sight of Vittorio. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” was his immediately reply, aggravating Vittorio.

“It’s hot,” he snapped, as if the sweat running down his face wasn’t proof enough. He turned away and moved back to the bed at the same pace as before. Vittorio was glad when the other didn’t help him, since the adolescent hated being treated like a child. “So, where am I? This isn’t the same place as before.”

Alejandro rubbed at the knot that was forming on his forehead where the door had hit him, and he was watching Vittorio to make sure he didn’t fall again. The youth was a prideful creature, but from the clothes he had on it was obvious that he had come from a wealthy family. “Si, this place is located near a better market than the other one,” he lied, avoiding in telling him where they were. It wasn’t like he could walk out of there, and certainly not very far.

Vittorio glanced at him with narrowed eyes as he sat on the bed, trying not to show how much pain he was. “You didn’t answer my question,” he accused.

“No, I didn’t,” he readily agreed. Alejandro turned away to leave the room, but left the door open. “I’ll go fetch the doctor so he can give you something for the pain.” Vittorio cursed the man as he went, and his gaze snapped toward the other bed to see that the other was awake. The younger boy was looking at him curiously, and Vittorio was just annoyed. He really needed to get out of there.

~o~

Vittorio’s first outing from the dilapidated place they obviously called home was several days later, and against the smaller male’s advice. It had annoyed Vittorio that this boy that was at least five years younger than him, dared to try and tell him what to do. When he had left the house he had of course experienced some discomfort in his wound, but had stubbornly continued on. When the discomfort had turned into pain after several unsteady steps, it was too late to turn back, or rather, he was too proud to go back. However, when he couldn’t go on any longer and the pain had turned into white hot agony, he regretted not listening to Elio. It was Elio’s older brother, Alejandro that found and carried him back to bed like some damn damsel.

When their father looked over the wound, he told Vittorio that luckily his stitches had come out. Then he’d smacked him upside the head and called him an idiot. Vittorio had been mostly stunned, since the hit itself hadn’t hurt, and the chastising he received had left him a bit startled. There hadn’t been anyone since before his mother had gotten sick that had reprimanded him. Afterwards, his father had let him do as he pleased as long as he didn’t cause him any trouble. So, most of his childhood was spent being waited on hand and foot by the servants, and receiving anything he wanted as long as he kept up with his studies. It wasn’t too difficult a task, since he had always been smarter than most boys his age. Vittorio had truly lived a privileged life, but that was all gone now. They were all gone.

“Alright,” he snapped, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “I don’t need your lectures old man, and I’m not some child!” Vittorio didn’t want to seem ungrateful of the help they had given him, but he didn’t need this man trying to act like his father. His father was dead. Also, he needed to get out of there as soon as his injury would allow, or Carlo was likely to find and kill him and anyone that had helped him. If they helped him, he could reach Venezia, since his father had other properties there as well as Firenze.

Instead of being offended, the man simply chuckled before flicking him against the forehead as the youth hissed in pain. “Your petulance shows that you’re nothing more than a child, and spoiled as well.” Vittorio bristled up like an angry cat, but the older man cut off anything he may have said. “Now, listen carefully, brat. You will remain in this bed until the dottore deems you able to move around. Is that understood?”

Vittorio’s mouth twisted in distaste, but another smack forced him to agree. “I’ll stay in the maledetto bed!” he shouted, getting hit again for cursing. The man gave him a snarky smirk and roughly ruffled his hair. The fourteen year old tried not to pout like the child he was accused of being. Instead, he was going to concentrate on getting better, and if he had to try walking when he was alone, nobody had to know.

He lifted a careful hand to the bandages that covered most of his face as well as his left eye. Vittorio remembered that it hadn’t been damaged by Carlo’s sword, so it was likely covered because the cut had been dangerously close to the eye. His face was still a strong throb of pain, and when he moved too quickly or tried to walk his back wound caused him agony.

Vittorio was distracted from trying to peel away the bandages so he could see out of his left eye, and glanced at the ten year old as he shifted in the doorway. The daylight was quickly fading, and soon it would be night. “Is this your house?” he asked Elio, making him jump in surprise since it was the first time he’d spoken directly to him in five days. “What’s your name?”

Elio licked his dry lips and glanced nervously over his shoulder. “I’m Elio Petaccia, and this is just a hideout. We don’t really have a home.” He bit his upper lip and looked like he may have said too much. Vittorio could really care less about his life story, and didn’t want to know these people. He only wanted to get Elio to tell him where he was, since Alejandro had refused to tell him.

“I don’t care about that! Just tell me where it’s located,” he snapped irritably. The boy cringed a bit and Vittorio momentarily experienced guilt before he quickly brushed it off. If he was offended then it wasn’t really Vittorio’s concern. He was younger than him, and his father had him as practically a prisoner. “Well? I haven’t got all day!”

Elio looked down at his scruffy boots self-consciously. “We’re in a hide-out in the Antico district.” Alio reached up to scratch his head and it was Vittorio’s turn to cringe. He hoped the boy didn’t have lice, and he really hoped he didn’t infest Vittorio. Although, judging by the tingling he felt along his scalp, he may already be too late to prevent it, or it could be goosebumps.

He was interrupted out of his horror of having to shave his head as Elio’s words registered in his mind. “Antico?” he asked incredulously. “How long was I unconscious?” Vittorio knew he’d passed out that first time he had woken up, but how long had it been before that?

When it became apparent that neither his brother nor father was going to come back and chastise him for disturbing Vittorio, he shuffled further into the room. Elio had never been around anyone close to his age before and usually was stuck with Aldo, since he was training Elio but he was seventeen. Alejandro was already twenty and spent most of his time doing “missions” with his father or with other thieves. So, he wanted to know everything there was to know about the older boy, and especially how he’d gotten so injured.

“Well, the first time you were unconscious for a week and a half, and then two days,” he informed him, taking a seat in the rickety chair by the bed which groaned in protest. “We were in a hide-out in Centro when Alejandro found you. The dottore bandaged you up and said that all we could do was wait to see if you made it through the night.” He grinned at him. “And you did.”

Vittorio rolled his eyes at the younger child, but glanced at him when he hesitated. Elio cast another furtive glance toward the door, and the window that had been left open to let the breeze in. “Then the soldiers came,” he said, lowering his voice until it was only a whisper. Vittorio had to lean in a bit closer to hear what Elio was saying. “They started searching the houses looking for someone.” Vittorio’s breath hitched in his throat. “We had to flee, and there was no choice but to put you on my fratello’s back and run.”

Elio shrugged as he leaned back in the chair and it creaked again at the shift. “Papa said they were looking for the son of some aristocrat or something that was being accused of treason against the church. I overhead Alejandro and father speaking about it, and I think they said his name was Vittorio or something.”

The fourteen year old felt as if the very air had frozen in his lungs. Those men had been looking for _him_! The only thing he could think about it was that Carlo hadn’t been lying. However, it could also just mean that it was a one big conspiracy, but it just seemed so unlikely. This left him with a lot to think about as he stared down at his hands. He would never be able to return to his childhood home, since they’d surely be waiting for him. Also, he couldn’t let these people know his real name, because even if they had helped him, he didn’t trust them. Vittorio doubted there was anyone left alive that he trusted, and the thought was just a little bit lonely.

“Are you feeling ill?” Elio’s voice cut into his awareness and Vittorio realized that he’d been staring at his trembling hands for several long seconds. “You look very pale. I should call my papa.” The ten year old stood, but Vittorio’s hand shot out to stop Elio before he could walk off. He warily glanced at the boy, but seemed to understand him as he sat back down.

It was in that moment that the chair gave one last cry of dismay and broke underneath him, so chair pieces and Elio wound up on the floor. The situation was so ridiculously out of place that it caused a half-crazed laugh to escape him. Elio face turned beet red and that sent him into hysterics as he laughed and laughed so hard that his wound pained him. Vittorio was feeling partially hysterical and helpless while at these people’s mercy, and he couldn’t get himself to stop laughing. He could only continue to reassure himself that everything would be alright, and even went so far as to believe himself. After all, deep-seeded denial ran in his family.

“Iso,” he murmured when Elio inquired about his name. It was almost easy to let that name slip through his lips after so many years, because for a long time he had thought he _was_ Isotta. “My name is Iso.” If Elio found it strange that he had given a girl’s name, he said nothing on the matter and continued to ask him questions. When he asked about his injuries Vittrio lied once again, and he said that his family was from Firenze and had come to visit a relative. They’d been ambushed by bandits, his parents killed, and Iso had barely escaped with his life. The younger boy hung onto every word he said. Vittorio had never had siblings, Isotta dying when he’d been too young to remember, but he imagined it was something like that. It was something he could get used to, and the affection he felt for the boy scared the hell out of him.

This caused him to lash out as he cut the younger boy off as he’d been describing a legend among the thieves of a hooded man with violet eyes that grown men spoke of in whispered conversation. La Volpe. Frankly, Vittorio was fed up with legends and myths. He needed something real to believe in and give him hope, or maybe he needed to learn to believe in himself.

“Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “Men like that are just myths! Just like the diavolo swordsman from Firenze. They don’t exist!”

Elio seemed to take great offence by his words this time as he puffed up like a bullfrog. “He does exist! Papa works for him! He saved my mama and me! He-”

“Is just a story! He’s not real.” Vittorio turned away as the anger drained out of him to be replaced by sorrow. “In the end, you realize that they’re just bedtime stories parents tell to babies, but one has to grow up. We all do...”

“You shouldn’t tear down someone else’s beliefs just because another destroyed yours.” Vittorio’s head snapped around to stare at Alejandro, who had come in without making a noise. He had his right elbow propped on Elio’s shoulder while in his left hand there was a bowl of something that might have been food. Alejandro jerked his head toward the exit as he straightened, and after one last glance at Vittorio Elio hurried out the door.

Once they were alone, the young man moved toward him and calmly set the plate down on the small table beside the bed. “I saved your life, so that puts you in my debt until you save mine. Whether you repay that debt or I die first, you will accept and be grateful for what you are given until that time has come to pass.” He turned his back on him as he moved to the door, but paused in the doorway. “Don’t put those thoughts into my fratellino’s head, _Iso_ ,” he sneered on the last word. Vittorio wondered how long the man had been listening to the conversation, and if his tone suggested that he didn’t believe that it was his name.

Alejandro walked out and closed the door, and ten minutes as he was eating the lukewarm food, the sun finally set as the room was slowly plunged into darkness. Vittorio had never been afraid of the dark, but being alone in the dark, cold room during a moonless night was too much for him. He stood even with the pain between his shoulder blades, and hobbled his way over to where he was fairly sure was the door. Vittorio cursed as he stubbed his toe on the small table and the bowl fell and broke, and gasped as he tripped over the pieces of the broken chair. Finally, he found the door after groping around and pushed it open. There was a torch two houses down and Vittorio wasn’t sure he would make it before he succumbed to the pain. However, he didn’t really have a choice and he grabbed the unlit torch and prepared to make the effort to reach it.

His torch suddenly came to life with fire and he jumped in fright, and turned to the left to see Alejandro, carrying the lit torch which he’d obviously used to light his. Alejandro then stared at him so long that Vittorio became self-conscious, but refrained from reaching up to fuss with the bandages on his face. His left eye was still covered, which is the reason he hadn’t seen the young man walk up on him, and realized how much of a handicap it was in his current situation. “Get back in bed before you fall again.” He saw Vittorio swell up indignantly, and cut off his rant before it could get started. “I won’t carry you back this time. Not that I didn’t enjoy carrying the princess back. ” He smirked as Vittorio bristled angrily. “But you really don’t want to spend the night on the cold, dirty ground do you?” Alejandro chuckled as Vittorio’s mouth snapped shut even as his lips twisted in anger. He turned and walked off, throwing a jaunty wave over his shoulder.

Vittorio was left fuming in the doorway until the pain made his knees wobbly, and he set the torch in the metal grate by the door before closing it. He barely made it to the bed when his legs gave way under him, and crawled under the covers with a pained whimper he was glad nobody heard.

After that, sleep quickly whisked him away into a troubled sleep. So, he was unaware as the door opened an hour later, and someone sat at the head of his bed. The only sound to be heard for a while was Vittorio’s labored breathing, and then the door opened again.

“Alejandro?” The young man’s gaze moved to the doorway where his father stood. “How is he?” he inquired as he closed the door and moved further into the room.

Alejandro looked down at Vittorio’s pale, sweaty face as he thrashed while he dreamed. He leaned down to whisper something in the boy’s ear as his fingers pushed back the damp strands of his brown hair. “He is bitter and filled with despair,” he murmured as he looked down at his slumbering features. Whatever he had said to him, it had calmed Vittorio down.

The older thief sighed with a nod as he leaned back against the wall. “It would be difficult for any child not to be after everything he’s been through,” he stated, watching his oldest run his hand tenderly through Vittorio’s hair. He knew Alejandro would see Elio in Vittorio and feel just as protective, since they weren’t that far apart in age. However, it would do him no good to get attached, for either of his sons. “He will want to leave once he’s healed,” he warned, seeing as Alejandro paused in his caress of the boy’s hair.

“I know that,” he said with an unhappy scowl. Mario knew that he wouldn’t keep quiet about what he thought of the idea. “Where will he go? They’ll find him, and that sadistic, figlio di puttana will get his hands on him.”

Mario gave a bone weary sigh as he rubbed a hand down over his face. “The ragazzo is proud and hard-headed. He can’t stop him no more than we can catch a gust of wind.” He glanced at the aforementioned boy and saw that he’d curled his body to where he sensed Alejandro’s body heat. Mario saw a damaged child in need of affection and protection not only from others, but himself as well. “Let Elio try and perhaps he can reach him where we can’t.”

Alejandro frowned as he glanced at Vittorio uncertainly. The young man had seen the extent of his bitterness, and knew that his cynical attitude may affect Elio. However, it was the same way when one saved an injured bird, and you couldn’t help but get attached. “Fine, but I’ll keep an eye on them.” He gave the youth one more affectionate ruffle of Vittorio’s hair before he stood. “Is there any news?”

Mario’s face darkened immediately and this worried Alejandro. “We have a name now. La Volpe tracked one of the banditi down, and we were able to ambush their hideout. They call themselves the Cento Occhi.”

“A Hundred Eyes?” he asked incredulously as his old man nodded.

“It’s probably because of their vast numbers that grow every day.” Here his mouth tightened in an anger Alejandro hadn’t seen in a long time. “They don’t just stick to thieving, but they also murder, rape and are involved in the slave trade. There have been reports of men, women and even children being taken.”

Alejandro was filled with the same anger as his father at the last part, since he imagined his brother being taken by those heartless scums. “We can’t let them keep doing this to our people,” he growled.

The other nodded in agreement as he opened the door. “La Volpe wants us to find where they’re basing the slave trade in Antico, and if possible stop them. He knows we are not actual members of the Order, but he is and we owe him our allegiance.”

Alejandro rubbed a hand down the nape of his neck. “Si, but first we need to track down one of the main slavers, and without that information we won’t know where to start.”

“We have a name. It’s one of the reasons La Volpe had us searching for the boy. He knew that Rodrigo Borgia had the Sabelli household in his sights, so it would only be a matter of time before he sent someone for them. It’s just a shame that we didn’t get there in time to save anyone besides the boy.” Mario passed the door as his son followed. “Carlo Barbarigo is the instructor’s name, and he’s deeply involved with the slavers. He was planted in the Sabelli home as a spy for the Spaniard, and was simply waiting for the order to strike.” He paused as he glanced at the younger male. “From here we have to be careful of any move we make, or we’ll lead him right to the boy and everything will be for naught.”

Alejandro nodded as he closed the door. “Is that my mission then, to protect Vittorio?” Mario’s answer was cut off as the door snapped shut and both men walked further away, but Vittorio didn’t need to hear anymore. A hand ruffling his hair had brought him out of sleep and the first words of the conversation he’d overhead had been the reason he had faked still being asleep. The revelation that not only did they know exactly who he was, but that they were protecting him had shaken him, and didn’t know what to think. It _was_ a shame that they hadn’t been able to save kind and gentle Giovanna, or to stop his parents’ tragic end, but they _had_ found and saved Vittorio.

This meant that he could trust them to protect him and his identity while he recovered. The only thing that continued to nag him was their reasons for doing it, and what they wanted from him. He wondered what they got out of it. It was that lack of knowledge that kept him from completely trusting the two men.

~o~

It was two weeks later that he was able to finally leave the bed for short periods of time without feeling pain, and he was allowed to walk around outside as long as he didn’t strain himself. Whenever he’d venture outside Elio followed at his heels, and he couldn’t go anywhere without the younger boy at his side. He was like a loyal dog, and Vittorio was sure that if he had a tail it’d be happily wagging behind him whenever he got excited.

Vittorio snickered at the mental image of Elio as an energetic puppy, and the other gave him a curious glance. He just waved Elio off without saying a word for fear of bursting out laughing. Instead, he motioned for them to keep going to the nearby market. Vittorio had convinced Mario that he was well enough to go and come back, and if he made it then it’d be the longest he’d walked since his injury. So far, besides a few sporadic twinges of pain he was doing fine, but would sit down somewhere if he needed to. Frankly, Vittorio didn’t want to further injure himself, and be completely healed so he could go where he wanted, whenever he wanted.

It was ten minutes later that found him sitting on the stump of a broken marble column, and he waited for Elio to return from the stand a few feet away. His upper back had started hurting and had told the younger boy to go on ahead and he’d wait there. Vittorio could see the stand from where he was sitting, but there were so many people at this time of day that they were blocking his line of vision. One minute he saw Elio with a bag of apples, oranges, and bread, and then the crowd got too thick for Vittorio to see. When he was finally able to glimpse the fruit stand, Elio was nowhere to be seen.

The fourteen year old felt dread seize his heart as he stood and hurried over despite the pain, but all he found was the abandoned sack. He frantically looked around but there was no sign of him, and Vittorio didn’t know what he was going to do. Alejandro had been shadowing their every move for the past two weeks, but Mario and the young man had been urgently called to a meeting with La Volpe. Vittorio had gotten a glimpse of the man with Elio trying to look around him, and he had finally believed his ridiculous myth. That’s the only reason they had gotten away with going to the market by themselves, since it was close to their hideout and didn’t seem as if a pair of kids would be harassed by the guards. After all, Vittorio certainly didn’t look like the son of an aristocrat anymore.

He saw the spotter at the same time that the man saw him, and Vittorio’s first instinct was to run. Vittorio wasn’t trained as Alejandro or Mario, and was completely out of his element now. He didn’t know what to do when the man started walking in his direction, and the thing that kept him from fleeing was Elio and that he could be in danger. The teenager had eavesdropped on several of Mario and Alejandro’s conversations, and had heard quite a bit on this Centro Occhi gang, the slavers and how they worked. So, he knew that this man was a spotter for the slavers and if that were so then not only Elio, but he was also in danger. They preyed on the weak and right now, he looked like the main course.

The smile the man gave Vittorio was sharp and dangerous, but he feigned ignorance and smiled right back. “I noticed you appear lost. Are you looking for someone?” If he said he was looking for Elio then he may grow suspicious because they didn’t look alike enough to be brothers, so he lied through his teeth.

“Si,” he answered, playing up his injury with a wince and a hand to his face. The slavers would not care if his face was scarred, and only if both his eyes were good. It was fortunate that his left eye had already been uncovered and only had a simple dressing on his face now. Also, he couldn’t let on that he was bodily injured of he’d lose interest. After all, nobody wanted a cripple for a slave. “I was with my mother but lost sight of her.” He hesitated as he looked at the man with wary eyes. “Did you see her, perhaps? She has brown curly hair and caramel eyes, and she’s wearing a blue dress.”

The man had been studying him as he’d spoken, and Vittorio had kept standing still and straight despite a persistent throb that had started at the small of his back. When he was given that smile again, he knew he’d passed his scrutiny. “I think I saw a woman that could have been your mother. She _did_ seem to be looking for someone. I can show you where she is if you want.”

He may have nodded a bit too eagerly, but either the man hadn’t thought anything of it or figured it was his enthusiasm to find his ‘mother’. The youth followed after him and tried to walk normally as the throb that had started to get uncomfortable, and tried to think of a course of action. So far, Vittorio was just winging it, but didn’t know how long that would work.

Almost as soon as they had left the main road, he was surrounded by two more men, and figured that perhaps he hadn’t thought this through. “What’s going on?” he asked, and he didn’t have to fake the tremor in his voice. Vittorio was scared, but it was too late to run now. Besides, he was sure that these men had taken Elio, and as they seized his arms and threw a sack over his head, he prayed that he wasn’t wrong.

~o~

Vittorio bit back a sob as he was flung none too gently into the cage, and curled into the fetal position as the door was slammed shut and the men walked off. It was surely high noon right now, but as he pulled the sack from on top of his head he noticed that they were somewhere dark and damp. If he listened carefully he could hear the dripping of water nearby. Vittorio wasn’t sure where they had taken him since they’d pulled the sack over his head, but he was sure it was the same one Elio had dropped and that Vittorio had picked up. He’d heard them eating the food as they’d dragged his protesting body off. _Bastardi._

He finally uncurled when the pain had lessened and slowly sat up as he looked around the dim room. There was a torch at his back so he had some light and thus saw several small figures huddled in the corner. “Elio?” he called uncertainly. He heard a gasp as he squinted in an effort to see through the gloom. Vittorio saw one of the figures in the corner stand and rush over to him. It was too late to remind him of his injury as Elio tackled him and Vittorio tumbled back with the younger boy on top. He clenched his jaw so hard that he threatened to chip a tooth as agony shot along his nerve endings. Vittorio opened his mouth to snap at the ten year old until he realized that Elio was sobbing into Vittorio’s shoulder. A shaky sigh left his mouth as he patted the other on the back of his head.

When he’d finally calmed Elio down did he learn that he’d been grabbed as he was moving to another stand and passing by an alley way. It was infuriating to know that no one had even noticed the boy being taken by those men, and if Vittorio hadn’t noticed the spotter than they wouldn’t have ever known what had become of the boy.

Vittorio’s eyes snapped to the other figures that approached and his arm tightened protectively around Elio. “It’s okay Vitto,” he reassured the older boy. “Come on.” He beckoned them forward and Vittorio was suddenly being smothered by a dozen small bodies. They were all children younger than Elio himself, and the youngest being a boy of about twelve months that could barely walk. Elio hugged the little tyke close to his body as he gave Vittorio a helpless look. “We have to save them, Vittorio. I heard them talking. They’re going to sell them as slaves.”

Vittorio had grown to care about the ten year old in the time he had been recovering and even told him his real name. Hell, he’d let himself be caught by slavers to try and save him, but he wasn’t sure he could rescue them all. However, how could he say that when they were looking at him with those doe eyes, because despite of his bitterness, he wasn’t heartless. “All right,” he sighed. He reached into his boot and pulled out a thin stiletto blade. The thing about appearing weak was that nobody saw you as a threat, and it’s the reason the slavers hasn’t searched him for weapons. Vittorio would make sure they regretted their mistake.

The lock itself was easy, since Elio had already started to train to lock pick and pickpocket. Actually, the lock was so old that one solid hit with the hilt of his stiletto would have broken it, but allowed Elio to feel like he’d helped them escape. Now, this is where it got tricky, since if it had only been Vittorio and Elio then they could have easily snuck out on their own. So, now he’d be forced to make some kind of diversion so Elio could get the kids out. The problem was thinking up a plan that didn’t end up with him getting captured.

They snuck to the door and looked through a crack in the wood. There were two guards stationed right outside, and it didn’t look as if they would be moving any time soon. As far as he could tell, it was an hour past noon and so it would be a long time before they changed shift, and he didn’t think the children could wait that long. They were already squirming and whimpering from hunger as Elio tried to shush them. So, he had to think of something and fast.

In the end, he went with a reckless plan as Elio pushed open the door as hard as he could, knocking one to the side and pinning him against the wall. While the other was startled by what happened, Vittorio quickly cut both of his Achilles tendons so he crumpled with a scream, and one on the ground Vittorio knocked him out with a heavy rock he’d found on the ground. He quickly spun around as the other guard used his heavier body mass to push back against the door as Elio fell back with a helpless cry. The man pulled his sword out and lifted it to murder the poor boy.

“No!” Vittorio screamed, lunging forward and forgot he had the stiletto blade in his hand. Vittorio crashed into the larger man, knocking him away from Elio as he tumbled backwards. The fourteen year old was shaking as he looked down at the guard that stared up at him in shock, and both of them looked down at the blade sticking out of his lower belly. The guard was panting heavily as his hand moved to try and pull it out, but he gave one last gasping breath before his hand fell away and he went still.

Vittorio was trembling as he stared at the dead man and every breath he took was a whimper that threatened to turn into full out sobbing. A tug on his pant leg interrupted his hysteria and saw that the toddler had waddled up to him, and was staring up at him with teary brown eyes. The sight of that frightened face was enough to calm him. These innocents needed him, so he couldn’t lose his head.

He took the baby’s small hand and moved toward Elio who had once more been surrounded by the children as if reassuring themselves that the older boy was unhurt. “Alright, I’m going outside and see where we’re at,” he told Elio, and despite the tears running down his cheeks, his voice was steady. “Stay with the bambinos, and take this.” He handed over another dagger that he had hidden in his other boot. Elio opened his mouth but Vittorio cut him off. “Protect the little ones.” When the other nodded and moved them back into the shadows, Vittorio turned back to the dead man and inhaled deeply, and then pulled out the blade with a sickening squelch. Vittorio heaved for a moment, but otherwise kept his dignity in tact as he then slowly moved outside so he could see where they’d taken them.

The adolescent didn’t recognize where they were but there were several crumbling buildings and walls, and the grass was overgrown in some parts. He crept along the wall and looked the corner, but didn’t see any other guards even when he went to the other side of the wall. However, when he climbed on top of the wall he had to quickly duck down as he finally saw them. They were patrolling around where some construction was going on, and from what he could already make out, it was going to be a tower.

Vittorio cursed as he jumped down from the wall as a patrol passed by, hiding behind part of the wall that jutted out, and when they’d gone he came out. He glanced up to where he had been on top of the wall, and saw a bit further that there was a small niche where he would be able to observe the patrol without being seen. After several times observing the path they took, he had their route down. Vittorio figured he’d wait until they were the farthest away from where they were, and they’d make a break for the path that led them down to the road. It was a perfect plan, and best of all, it didn’t end with him getting captured.

Elio and the children crowded by the door as they waited for Vittorio to give them the signal. They would be out of sight when the patrol went by, and he would hurry them along when the guards were at the farthest end of the compound. As the four men reached the desired point, he was about to give the signal but his caught sight of two figures. He held out his hand to stop Elio and watched them for a moment, and noticed it was two men walking in their general direction. From this distance he could tell that one of them was wearing Captain’s armor, and the other was in all black and he walked with a noticeable limp. When they were close enough to distinguish their faces, Vittorio felt a cold hand clench around his heart as terror filled his mind. It was Carlo.

Vittorio’s turned and his frantic eyes met Elio’s worried ones, and looked for a moment at all those cherubic faces. The irrational fear to flee and leave them to the slaver’s mercy left his mind. “You get them down that path,” he told Elio firmly. Elio’s eyes widened in fear at the finality he heard in his voice, but before he could say a word Vittorio was gone. He rounded the corner and ran alongside the wall until he was out of sight of the building that was their prison, but soon the patrol would round the corner and see him. Vittorio’s hands and legs were shaking, but he inhaled a deep breath anyways. “Carlo Barbarigo! I’m over here, figlio di puttana!” he shouted as loud as he could.

The patrol spotted him immediately and saw both Carlo and the Captain turn back around. Vittorio glanced behind the men and saw Elio hurrying the kids along toward the path, and when they disappeared down the path he turned and ran. All six individuals were chasing him and he was forced to turn sharply around a corner several times to evade hands that came close to grabbing him. The pain from his back injury had been pushed to back of his mind as pure adrenaline kept him going. _‘So much for not getting caught,’_ Vittorio thought with a hysterical laugh as his blood pounded in his ears and his legs ached.

Vittorio didn’t know how long had passed when he finally stopped running, and was crouched in a corner between a column and the wall as he tried to catch his breath. Vittorio could hear the clank of their armor nearby, and knew it was only a matter of time before they found him. Perhaps using himself as bait hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had, but he hadn’t had time to think of anything else.

“Vittorioooo,” a voice called in a sing-song tone. Vittorio shuddered as he recognized Carlo’s voice and shrunk further into the shadow made by the column. He saw that the sun was nearing the western horizon, and knew he only had to stay hidden until then. It was cloudy and knew that a summer storm was approaching, so the moon and starlight wouldn’t be seen. That’s when he would leave his hiding place and try-

“So, this is where you’re hiding,” he heard above him. Vittorio tried to look up too quickly, but he was too close to the wall and the back of his skull hit the unmoving surface. He whimpered as he fell to the side and felt dazed from the hit. Carlo laughed as he jumped down to land where he’d been crouched moments before. “Don’t kill yourself until I’ve had a chance to test out my new knife.” He pulled a dagger from a sheath at his waist, and the fading sunlight glinted off its serrated blade.

Vittorio scrambled back as well as he could while still sitting on the ground, but Carlo only calmly followed him. “Do you see these teeth?” he asked, indicating them on the dagger. “When you stab someone it’ll be really hard to properly stitch the wound closed. Especially if you twist it as you bury it in deeply.” Vittorio felt his back meet the wall and helplessly stared up as Carlo came to stand over him. “But with you I’m going to take my time, and try to see how loud I can make you scream.”

Carlo reached out to grab him and Vittorio instinctively cringed in anticipation of the pain. However, the clank of armor interrupted the man and Vittorio dared to crack one eye open to see Carlo turned toward the darkening sky of the east. There was a light that was growing ever brighter as if dawn was coming again, and there was shouting as guards were running back and forth. A random guard ran up as Carlo demanded to know what was happening. “Someone set the construction site on fire, and Captain da Siena is looking for you.”

Carlo growled as he turned back to the trembling youth who looked to be trying to blend into the wall behind him. “Cazzo!” He turned to walk away, but paused as he looked at the guard. “Watch him, and if he escapes you’ll pay with your life.”

The other man straightened as he gave a sharp nod. “I won’t let him out of my sight!” he assured him. Carlo eyed him momentarily before huffing and striding off as he cursed the inept Prospero da Siena and his guards. When he’d disappeared from sight, the guard moved toward him and Vittorio flinched away when he came too close. “Calmarsi, it’s me,” he hissed. Vittorio gasped as he recognized Alejandro’s voice now that he was closer.

Alejandro didn’t give him a chance to say anything as he grabbed and dragged him off. He tried to keep up with him as best as he could, but the pain had come back with a vengeance now that the adrenaline had run out. So, Vittorio was little more than a rag doll and the older man had to practically carry him, but he didn’t even seem to feel his extra weight even wearing all that armor. When they came to the cliff, they heard yelling from where they’d just come from.

“I WILL FIND YOU, VITTORIO!”

The teen shuddered fearfully but Alejandro only ruffled his hair with a smirk. “Not if I can help it,” he reassured him. Then without so much as a warning, he tossed him off the cliff and Vittorio’s scream lodged in the back of his throat. A moment later he landed in a big pile of hay and several hands dragged him out so Alejandro could jump as well. As he lay panting on the ground where they’d laid him, Elio appeared on one side surrounded by all the children they’d saved, and Alejandro on the other with the clank of stolen armor he was still wearing. Both of them were saying something but he couldn’t hear over the pounding of his own heart, but as darkness swooped in to carry him into oblivion, he only knew one thing.

As long as these two brothers were still alive, he would stay with them, and learn from them. Now, they would be his new family.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Che Stolto - that fool  
> rospo - toad; nasty person  
> monello - brat, urchin, scamp, rascal, romp, guttersnipe, scapegrace  
> diavolo: demon   
> banditi - bandits


	19. Two Thieves in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the last chapter was not translated, but it means Human Trafficking. It would have given away too much, which is the reason it was left without a translation. This chapter was written ahead in my little notebook lol, but it was hard to get it typed up with everything getting in the way. Surprisingly enough, the muses were fighting to get this chapter out, so they were a big help. They seemed to really get into the chapter, but it feels a bit rushed due to the time skips. Well, like @jarpad’s tweet said “Baby’s got her running shoes on.” lol, too bad that line was cut. Onward!

**Chapter Nineteen:** _Two Thieves in the Night_

_1498_

It was difficult for Vittorio to stop himself from busting out in laughter, because at the moment Elio resembled little more than a drowned cat. “So, uh what exactly...heh... happened?” Vittorio was proud that he managed to bite back his snort of laughter at the end. Although, judging by unimpressed look on Elio’s face, he hadn’t been successful.

Messere Mario had given the novice thief his first assignment. There was word that there was a thief stealing within Campagna District, and Elio had been sent to investigate but under no circumstances was he to engage him. The reason was that Mario was suspicious and wanted to make sure it wasn’t the Cento Occhi. Alejandro was on his own assignment and Vittorio couldn’t go for obvious reasons. Also, if it was the Cento Occhi then it was possible that Carlo was involved and Vittorio didn’t want to meet with him. He wasn’t ready yet. Vittorio had hoped that the man would have been killed by now, but he didn’t have that kind of luck and he’d have been the first to be informed.

“It wasn’t the Cento Occhi,” Elio said with a sigh as he wrung the water out of his hat. “I was in the Campagna, and saw a man swiping money pouches. When I tried to follow him he evaded me, and I tried to keep up as best as I could. Then when I was passing one of the aqueducts I felt someone shove me into the well.” He quickly shook his hair like a dog as the water from the wet strands flew everywhere. Vittorio knew his habits and had hid behind the towel that he’d had in his hands for Elio. “There was a second accomplice and he’s the one that was most likely finding him targets. It was a boy around my age, or maybe younger. He jeered and taunted me as he crouched on the edge, and only left when the older man came to drag him off. They’re probably a father and son duo, and by the time I managed to get out of the well, they were long gone.”

Vittorio nodded with a smirk as the scarred skin of his face bunched slightly as he did so. “Did you report in with Messere Mario yet?” he inquired. The nineteen year old had become associated with the Thieves’ Guild for these long five years, but had never really joined them. It was mostly because his loyalty was limited to Elio and Alejandro, and their father by default. So, none of the other thieves felt comfortable working with him without knowing whether he was going to cover their back or not. Vittorio would, of course, defend or protect any of them in a combat situation, but _they_ didn’t know that. The young man liked their little trio the way it was, and didn’t want anything or anyone to disrupt that.

When Elio shook his head, Vittorio threw the towel in his face as he stood from where he’d been sitting. “You should go tell him. He’s probably waiting for you.” Elio cursed at him as he yanked the towel off, only for Vittorio to flick his forehead. It was a habit he’d picked up from Alejandro, and it annoyed him to no end whenever either of them treated him like a child. He was fifteen for Cristo’s sake, and as a novice thief he was being given his first missions. The missions consisted mostly of training the children so they could become novices one day themselves, and easy information and reconnaissance missions, but they were important to _him_. So, to fail due to that other boy whose name he didn’t even know was infuriating.

“Let me know what your papa says,” Vittorio told him, snapping Elio out of his fuming. The nineteen year old was well trained, since his brother had taken him under his wing regardless of the other thieves’ protests. Elio could understand why they were upset, since he accompanied Alejandro on his mission despite the fact that he hadn’t pledged his loyalty and he wasn’t born into the Thieves’ Guild. It was the reason that the others refused to go on any mission that Vittorio went on, and didn’t even speak to the young man. Vittorio took being an outcast in stride, and even seemed to prefer things the way they were.

The only thing that severely bothered him was if anyone stared at his face for too long, or commented on his scars. He’d gotten into several fistfights over the years with the novice thieves as a result, and won every one. It was another reason for them to loath him, but as always, Vittorio thrived from it. Elio knew that the only two things that scared him were meeting with Carlo once more, and Elio or Alejandro in danger. He would have teased him about it, but Elio wouldn’t be so cruel, since he knew the tragic ways in which he’d lost all his family. At times, he wondered if he treated the other thieves with disdain so they wouldn’t get close. That way he wouldn’t let them into his heart as he had accidentally done with the Petaccia brothers. Elio wondered if letting anyone else in was another of his fears.

Elio was vigorously drying his hair when the door opened, and through the tousled strands of his still damp hair, he saw that it was his father. “You were supposed to come see me as soon as you got back.” As Elio stood there looking cowed, Mario jerked his head at the door, and Vittorio gave him a two finger salute before leaving. To anyone that saw them, it appeared as if Vittorio had no respect for Mario Petaccia, but it was quite the opposite. Vittorio had a lot of respect for the man, or else he’d have simply ignored him just now. He was also the only one he listened to and obeyed, since he argued that Alejandro was only six years older and it wasn’t enough of an age difference for Alejandro to be his elder. Elio suspected that he did it merely to annoy his older brother.

If one looked at how his lean muscled body could move as smoothly as water running through your fingers, and it wouldn’t be possible to think that he’d been severely injured a few years ago. However, the dottore had said that there was no permanent damage, and Vittorio only complained on very cold winter nights. As for his face, he’d started to wear a strip of cloth so only his eyes were visible, and also so he wouldn’t be spotted by the guards. The artist that had done the wanted poster of Vittorio with his scar was very accurate, and Elio would have been impressed if it didn’t mean that his friend was in danger. Of course, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to think that after five years Carlo would have given up his search for Vittorio. However, the young man had assured Elio after he made that statement, that only death would free him from Carlo’s vengeance. Elio had been worried when he didn’t clarify whose death; Carlo’s or Vittorio’s. “That man doesn’t understand what forgiveness is,” Vittorio had told Elio with such graveness in his voice that it had scared him. It was almost as if he’d come to terms with the fact that he would one day have to face Carlo, and one of them _would_ die. Vittorio just didn’t know who it was going to be.

“Are you listening to me?” He was snapped out of his thoughts by his father’s voice. The man sighed at seeing the confusion on his face. “I said to get changed before you catch pneumonia.” It was already spring but the nights were still cold, and it was already past mid-day.

As he left to do as Mario instructed, he figured it was best that Elio hadn’t heard what he had really said. Mario had been thinking out loud on the duo that Elio had encountered, and by his son’s descriptions he knew who they were. At least he thought he may know the older man, but he wasn’t sure due to the names they were known by, Robyn and Yeoman. Elio had described him as man as being in his forties and a boy that was most likely younger than Elio. They appeared to be working in tandem with another, and the kid was the spotter while the man did the stealing. It was a good system, since the spotter, usually located on the roof, could also see when the guards were too close, or if anyone had taken notice of the man. It also meant that the spotter was less likely to get caught if they avoided being seen by the archers.

The Thieves’ Guild had no problem with lone thieves as long as they weren’t preying on the already poor people of Roma. So far, it seemed that they stole from the guards that harassed or stole from the poor people of Roma. While they were too busy counting the money they’d stolen, they wouldn’t see their money pouches being stolen, and it usually contained more than what they’d taken. They would then give it to the victims and disappear without even waiting to be thanked. They also seemed to steal from corrupt officials, and anyone that openly flaunted their lavish attire in front of those suffering under the Borgia guards.

The man knew they’d make a good addition to their ranks due to their excellent thieving skills and their strong sense of justice, but he doubted they would join. He suspected that the older man that went by the name Robyn was actually a man named Ciro, who had been a lone thief for many years. Mario wasn’t sure because of the boy, since the Ciro he’d known all his life would never had accepted a partner, and both his children were dead.

Mario would send a more skilled thief next time to track the duo and discover if it was the same man or not. He would go himself since he already knew his face, but he had other responsibilities that he just couldn’t abandon. Now that he thought about it, Mario needed to leave now since it was almost dusk and he and La Volpe had to ride for Monteriggioni. Alejandro was on a mission on the other side of Roma and would not return in two more days, and there were few options before he would have to leave. So, as he left the small house his son’s shared with Vittorio, he decided something he may regret later due to the ear full he’d get from the other Master Thieves. However, if La Volpe hadn’t said anything to him about training and sending Vittorio on missions, then Mario wouldn’t worry too much over the others.

Besides, he knew that the young man needed to be ready, because one day he would have to return to his childhood home. It was essential they returned with someone that was familiar with the house, and the Master Thief was certain that Vittorio wouldn’t forget the house he’d spent fourteen years of his life.

~o~

Vittorio’s entire body stiffened as he heard the howl of a wolf nearby, and ducked down as low to the ground as possible so the piece of wall would hide the top of his head. The clank of armor and heavy footsteps was the only thing heard as the patrol passed his hiding spot. When that sound had faded away, he straightened and flashed a look to the nearby rooftop where he’d just jumped from, and where Elio had slinked into the shadows.

They had moving steadily over the rooftops on their way to where Elio had first seen the lone thief and his spotter. As Vittorio had jumped down, he’d immediately heard Elio’s warning, and now the other joined him since it was clear. Vittorio nudged him so he could go ahead because he wasn’t the one in danger of being seen and subsequently captured by the guards. Both of them continued that way until reaching their destination where Campagna met Centro, and the fifteen year old even showed Vittorio the well he’d been thrown into.

Vittorio knew that the man would not return here after his encounter with Elio, but he had to be somewhere in Campagna District. They spent most of the morning and well into late afternoon looking through the whole district, but always making sure that it was Vittorio out in the open in case he was spotted again. He was spotted once by a patrol, but he had lost them in the nearby market and soon after they abandoned that area. Next time, Vittorio made sure to take to the rooftops, but they were on opposite sides of the streets since two people huddled together looked suspicious.

They used simple hand signs to communicate for look, quiet, listen, danger, and stop. Also, the animal noises were for when they weren’t within sight of each other. The wolf howl was for approaching guards, the eagle’s cry if one of them had spotted their target or anything else worth investigating, a cat’s mewl if there was a potential enemy near, and a dog’s bark if danger was close.

As Vittorio was returning from buying something to eat along with a canteen filled with water from the aqueduct, he suddenly heard the cry of an eagle. He could never mistake Elio’s signal with the real thing, since he’d heard it enough times to know the difference. So, he immediately scanned the crowd for their target, because the signal meant he was close to Vittorio’s position. As he was discreetly looking at everyone in the crowd, he heard Elio’s cat call closer than the eagle one. It meant that the fifteen year old was moving toward him, and the older male hoped he wasn’t spotted by their target.

Vittorio saw the thief before he saw Vittorio, and noticed that it was the youth instead of the older man. The kid was good as he deftly stole with quick hands, and while a civilian wouldn’t notice, a guard would see him right away. From what Mario had told him yesterday, the father and son worked as a very effective team with one as the spotter while the other stole. However, he’d gotten the impression that the son was the spotter, and if they’d switched than those experienced eyes would see him coming before he got close enough, if he hadn’t seen him already. There had been no warning given, and Vittorio was probably being dismissed as another face in the crowd since he didn’t have his mask on because it had gotten too hot to have it on. It was also possible that _papa_ hadn’t seen him yet to sound the alarm. Either way, he couldn’t just stand still and wait for the boy to come to him, so he steadily moved in his direction. He slowly pulled his mask up now, since the scarring on his face might scare the kid before he even got the chance to speak.

The young man kept his eyes discreetly looking at the rooftops in hopes of spotting the older man, and all the while he was getting closer to the pickpocket. When he was just ten feet away from the slender boy, a shrill whistle cut through the cacophony of the afternoon day, and the boy’s head snapped up. Their eyes locked in that instant, and as quick as a fox he darted away. It pained Vittorio to waste food, so he shoved the items in one of the beggar’s hands that he’d been passing and sprinted after the boy. Yeoman was annoying quick on his feet, but Vittorio prided himself on his speed. It was one of the main things he had obsessed about in the past five years. Along with his swordsmanship, he had been determined to be the best, because it was only a matter of time before he found himself face to face with Carlo. It was certain that one of both would die when that time came to pass.

So, this boy’s speed was no match for Vittorio as he tackled him into a pile of hay. After all, he didn’t want to hurt him, since his mission was more of a diplomatic one. Of course, some would argue that Vittorio couldn’t offer these two an invitation to join, when he himself hadn’t joined the Thieves’ Guild. Vittorio would counter that as a non-member, he was unbiased, and having not taken the Oath was not swayed to omit the truth even if it put the Guild in a questionable light.

“Porca Bastardo! Get off me!” He was startled by the too high voice that couldn’t possibly belong to a fifteen year old who was already past puberty. Also, Vittorio was impressed by the inventive curses coming from him, and had to admit that not even he could come up with such creative insults. “Are you deaf or just stupid, non pene?! I said get off me!” It seemed apparent that he could not shove off Vittorio’s more muscular body from on top of him where he was straddling his waist. He could not be Elio’s age as the fifteen year old had thought. The boy had to be at least twelve with such a high pitched voice. Also, Vittorio was perturbed at how _pretty_ the other was, and there was no other word to describe him.

Vittorio frowned at the racket he was making, and gave him a swift jab in the stomach as the other was cut off mid-rant as he whimpered in pain. It wouldn’t injure him, and only knock the air out of him so he’d shut up for a second. “Just listen for a minute,” he snapped, voice muffled by his mask. “Yeoman” - -as Mario had named him- - wheezed as he tried to catch his breath, and meanwhile Vittorio got off him and dragged him further into the alleyway. Vittorio was sure “Robyn” wouldn’t be too far behind Yeoman, and wanted to talk with him without daddy’s interference.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, and I won’t turn you into the guards. I’ve actually come to offer you an invitation-”

Yeoman turned back suddenly as he snapped his hand forward, and Vittorio’s own hands snatched the throwing knives out of the air. The younger male appeared shocked for a moment before he was on his feet as he pulled a dagger out of a sheath hidden in a sash at his waist, and rushed him. Vittorio merely sighed in exasperation as he only dodged every swipe of the dagger in Yeoman’s right hand, and the occasional punch or kick.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to attack someone, and especially such a young boy.” His words did nothing to quell his anger, and if anything his attacks only increased in intensity. Have you ever killed a person? Don’t ever do it because then you don’t wait for God to do justice for you,” he grunted as he jumped away, “you take justice into your own hands.” Yeoman wasn’t listening to him, and it annoyed Vittorio to no end.

However, his annoyance turned into real anger as Yeoman got past his defenses, and his dagger cut into the sleeve of his shirt and drew blood. Vittorio went on the offensive, and it was over in a few seconds as he used the knives he still had in his hands and disarmed Yeoman. Then he kicked him into the wall, and quickly used his own daggers to pin the sleeves of his coat to the wall behind him.

As Yeoman struggled to dislodge the knives, Vittorio pushed back his disheveled hair out of his eyes and tried to catch his breath. “Now will you listen to me?” he demanded angrily. Although, he was so incensed that he contemplated leaving Yeoman for the guards to find. However, the whiz of projectiles interrupted his thoughts and had to dodge several knives, and one could only be attacked so many times before he countered with the intent to kill. He threw his own throwing knives to where the attack had come and was rewarded for his effort as he saw Robyn jump away from the line of fire and into Vittorio’s sights.

“Leave us in peace, bandito,” the older man warned. He was clearly armed and Vittorio was wary, and hoped he chose to listen instead of fighting. “We want no involvement in your nefarious group. If you do not leave us be, then I will be forced to kill you.” Vittorio didn’t doubt that the man would follow through with his threat, but the fact that he had just done it gave the impression that he was reluctant. He glanced at Yeoman who was watching them with rapt attention, and knew the reason. It would pain Robyn to kill another in front of his son, but would do it to save his life. Despite the fact that Robyn had attacked him, he was a man that Vittorio could respect. The Thieves’ Guild needed men like Robyn.

“I didn’t come here to fight.” Yeoman snorted sardonically behind him, and Vittorio flashed a smirk in his direction. “Well, you wouldn’t be pinned to the wall if you hadn’t attacked me first.” The boy glared at him as he opened his mouth, but Vittorio cut him off with a grin. “And you were making enough noise to attract the guards’ attention, and I had to shut you up somehow. Besides, I doubt I hit you hard enough for it to hurt, so suck it up, bambino.” If Yeoman hadn’t been pinned to the wall then Vittorio was sure he’d have lunged at him again.

Vittorio ignored Yeoman’s muttered curses as he looked at Robyn, who hadn’t removed his hand from the hilt of his dagger. Clearly he would listen to what Vittorio wanted to say, but was no gullible fool. “I’m not part of the Cento Occhi,” he started off, but Robyn looked skeptical. “I was sent by Mario Petaccia.” That seemed to get a reaction out of him as his eyes widened minutely and he looked to be trying to say something. “He sent me to ask that you join the Thieves’ Guild, and that although he made you the same offer long ago, you refused him. Messere Mario strongly urges you to accept now.”

Vittorio’s voice lacked the pleading note that Mario’s had when he’d told him to convey these words. He didn’t know who this man was to Mario, but the emotion he’d glimpsed in his eyes was of fear and desperation. “The Borgia has made Roma a very dangerous place, and he begs that you join and surround yourself and the boy with allies.” Vittorio had slightly altered the last sentence, but the look on Mario’s face had filled Vittorio with the desire to convince Robyn. However, Robyn didn’t even look to be considering the offer as he shook his head. “Why?” Vittorio wanted to know what to say to the man.

Robyn looked pained for a moment before his features returned to a neutral expression. “He knows the reasons, and what will happen if I do return. There’s nothing left to say anymore.” The man jumped down, and Vittorio didn’t try to stop him as he freed Yeoman. Both men turned away to move toward the end of the alleyway.

“What about Yeoman? Will you not let the boy make his own decision?” He was getting a bit desperate now, and it was something he never would have done just a few years ago.

Yeoman whirled around to shout something at him, but Robyn silenced him with an outstretched hand. He didn’t even bother to turn around as he answered. “I lost too much already, and I won’t sacrifice Yeoman as well. Just leave us be.” Vittorio found he could say no more when the other man sounded so defeated. “Farewell, and safety and peace.” Robyn moved off while Yeoman looked after him in confusion. When he’d disappeared around the corner, he turned to glare at Vittorio.

In turn, Vittorio grinned mockingly, since he knew that having dodged every attack, and then disarmed him so easily was burning a hole in Yeoman’s gut. “You upset that I beat you, bambino?” he taunted. Yeoman’s hand moved to his dagger but didn’t pull it out. “Meet me here in three days, and I’ll give you a rematch.” Vittorio’s grin stretched further across his face. “Just make sure daddy’s not there to hold your hand.”

Before Yeoman could answer or attack him, they both heard Robyn’s shrill whistle two times, and it was followed shortly by the howl of a wolf. They both went for the same hay stack since they didn’t know where the patrol was coming from, and it was the only thing close enough to hide. So, there was no time to argue as Yeoman dived in along with Vittorio. Yeoman grunted as Vittorio’s bulkier body landed on top of him, and Vittorio hissed softly in pain as he slammed his elbow into the ground. They froze as they heard the approaching patrol just seconds after they’d disappeared from sight. There had been no time to adjust their positions and Yeoman could scarcely breathe with Vittorio’s heavier form crushing his, and his arms were both on either side of his head where he’d tried to brace himself. Vittorio, on the other hand, was rather uncomfortable, since Yeoman’s knee was pressed into his crotch and he was very aware of every shift he made.

When the patrol had passed, Vittorio felt Yeoman shove him as he simultaneously tried to scramble back to prevent that knee from rubbing against him again. Vittorio immediately turned away as he pretended to brush away the hay that clung to his clothes.

“In three days,” Yeoman growled huskily as he used his forearm to shield his flushed face. The other had been closer than anyone had ever been, and didn’t quite know what else to say.

Vittorio didn’t notice his embarrassment because he was still turned away trying to hide his own humiliating problem. “Bene,” he answered a bit breathlessly, pushing the heel of his hand into the bulge in his pants. Yeoman had given him an erection. He was so mortified that he stormed out of the alleyway, and didn’t care if Elio was following him or not.

Elio was confused as he tried to keep up with Vittorio, but he was moving as if the hounds of hell were biting at his heels. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the safe-house, but Vittorio noticed that Alejandro hadn’t returned. The twenty-five year old was the one that Vittorio reported to whenever Mario was unavailable, but with him also unavailable so he turned and marched out the door and warned Elio not to follow him. It quickly became apparent why he’d warned him as the brothel Vittorio usually frequented came into view.

The blonde haired, blue eyed whore he always went with was furious as he ignored her. Instead he chose a small breasted, slender, dark haired courtesan with black eyes and pale skin that looked to bruise easily, and if she slightly resembled Yeoman, nobody had to know.

~o~

Annetta lifted a hand as her slender digits caught hold of a velvety petal, smoothing the pads of her fingers along the soft surface. As she did that, her head tilted back to watch the rain of petals against the backdrop of a clear blue sky that was almost painful to look at. The sun was at her back and it was nearing late morning while she sat on that bench. Her mind wondered to the things that made up the life she had lead up to this point.

Ciro was the main person that had given her a purpose and a way to live. At one point, she saw him take the money he had stolen with expert hands from a passing guard, and then turn around to hand it to the same people it’d been stolen from. This image stayed in her mind for so long, it became her way of life. Her father had been a fan of English folklore and often told her stories of Robyn Hode, which was a heroic outlaw that was a highly skilled archer and swordsman. While there was no mention of him giving stolen money to poor or people mistreated by corrupt officials, for Annetta it was something that he seemed capable of doing for being a hero.

So, Ciro became her Robyn Hode and she wanted to be just like him. As a result, the thief, Ciro had to endure the nickname “Robyn”, but he didn’t particularly mind and took it in stride, calling her “Yeoman”, since the ballads and stories depicted this Robyn Hode as a yeoman. Then without realizing it they became known as Robyn and Yeoman by those that knew them, and with it was that Annetta was a young boy and not the young woman she was gradually becoming. It was convenient for them, since that meant that Annetta wasn’t bothered because they thought she was a boy. They became a team and a family, and they helped people that were suffering.

It was days like that which kept her from losing all hope in Roma as it suffered under Borgia control. These acts of benevolence from a lowly thief made her think that perhaps one day, even men of power could be just as compassionate. She honestly believed this to be the case as she sat on the bench in the Piazza della Rotond, and watched pink flower petals dance in the wind. This happened every third day of the week, and she had come to expect it and made sure she sat there as dawn crested the horizon so the water in the fountain sparkled. It had been the most beautiful morning and the only fixed thing in her life at this point in time.

There were several petals already sprinkling her hair, which was pulled into a braid and pinned to the top of her head, and usually covered by a hat that was sitting on the bench beside her at the moment. A cart filled with those very petals was a few feet away from her, and which a street sweeper had gathered in an attempt to clean the paved piazza, but it was in vain. For every petal he picked up, five more would fall. It was likely frustrating for him as his work increased, but Annetta could only think that it was the most magnificent sight.

Annetta always tried to be here to watch the petals, but that meant getting up before dawn came so she could be sitting in the same bench from where she had first seen this sight all those years ago. Even if it had been no more than five years from that night, it had seemed like a lifetime had passed. At times she would look back to the girl she had been and saw a stranger, and while she mourned for her lost innocence, perhaps it was better this way. That girl would never have been able to survive out here.

She stiffened as she saw a figure appear at the other side of the piazza, and immediately left her seat but was discreet about it. There wasn’t a good sized crowd to hide within, but there was enough to keep her from being recognized in an instant. So, by the time the bandit might have been close enough to spot her, she had completely disappeared from sight. The only thing left behind was the hat sitting on the bench which she had forgotten to grab before leaving. However, she made sure to quickly steal one. Afterwards, Annetta made sure to head straight home as she used the already growing crowd to her advantage. She was sure that the man hadn’t been looking for her, but one could never be too careful with the Cento Occhi.

By the time she returned to their home, it was almost noon and Ciro glanced disapprovingly at her. Annetta grinned sheepishly at him to which he sighed in fond exasperation before returning to sharpening his dagger. “Don’t you have a date today?” he asked with a smirk.

Annetta flushed hotly at his words as her mouth opened and closed several times indignantly. “I-it’s n-not a date, Ciro!” she sputtered. The man stopped what he was doing to look at his surrogate daughter with a raised eyebrow. Annetta’s lips twisted irritably before turning away and hurrying out of the door followed by Ciro’s amused laughter.

~o~

It was difficult to remember the exact place where he’d met Robyn and Yeoman, since he’d chased after the youth without keeping track of the direction he had taken. So, imagine his surprise when he saw that slender figure next to that same alleyway he had pinned him in. Vittorio thought he had sufficiently sated his lust three days later, but seeing Yeoman again made his cock stir to life once more. By that point he’d stopped caring that it was wrong, and just wanted to throw the boy down on that same pile of hay and make him howl in pleasure. However, he resisted because he had no idea how Yeoman would react, and he really didn’t want to add rape to his wanted posters. So, he would wait to see how this particular encounter would pan out before he acted on his impulses.

As Vittorio was battling with his desire to ravage the other, Yeoman, or rather, Annetta was trying _her_ hardest not to blush at seeing the other thief. Ciro’s earlier words wouldn’t leave her mind, and she was getting flustered at remembering Vittorio’s larger body covering hers. Also, she could have sworn she had felt the man harden against her knee, but couldn’t be too sure. However, just the thought of it was getting her a little hot under the collar. Especially at seeing the hungry look she saw in his eyes now. Annetta felt her insides quiver in anticipation.

“W-well, what are you waiting for?” she called, her voice shaking. She didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but she knew what _he_ wanted. Annetta wondered if he suspected she was a girl, or if he was attracted to her because he truly believed she was a boy. Well, she was about to find out as he stalked toward her.

Vittorio’s mouth stretched back into a grin underneath his mask at Annetta’s words, and quickly moved in her direction. He grabbed the smaller figure, pushing her back into the shadows of the alleyway. When he was sure his face wouldn’t be seen he yanked his mask down and crushed his mouth to hers. Annetta immediately grabbed onto him and kissed back passionately, and Vittorio was glad he hadn’t read her wrong.

His hands first pulled off her hat, finding the hair pinned up and pushed the fingers into the strands to dislodge the pins so it cascaded almost down to her waist. Vittorio shoved the coat back and pulled the shirt open with more force than he intended, ripping it a bit but Annetta only hissed angrily against his mouth and continued to kiss him. When his fingers felt the bindings keeping Annetta’s breasts flattened, he reeled back in shock and left Annetta panting against the wall feeling hurt and confused.

“You’re a woman?” he asked incredulously. His body and the top of his head were partially lighted by the dying sunlight, and Annetta could make out the top of a hideous scar just under his left caramel eye. It didn’t stop the persistent throbbing in her nether region that had started as soon as he’d touched her. However, she was worried that the fact that she was a woman would turn him off.

Annetta lifted shaking hands to pull the shirt closed. “Yes, so tough luck if you were expecting a man,” she spat, but her bravado was a cover for the humiliation of rejection.

Vittorio realized that his actions had been misinterpreted and surged forward. “No, no, of course not,” he reassured, large hands coming to cup her face. He could just make out her now obviously female face in the dim light, and he now knew that pretty hadn’t been enough to describe her before. The girl was gorgeous. “I was freaking out before.” He leaned down to kiss her again and was relieved when she only hesitated for an instant. “Grazie a Dio you’re a woman!” Vittorio growled against her mouth. He pulled her shirt open again and released her breasts from the restricting material.

Annetta moaned as her nipple was pinched by his fingers, arching up against the leg pressed between her thighs. It was getting so hot and she felt a desperate urgency to get touched where it was incessantly throbbing. She fumbled for his hand and pushed it to her own crotch. Vittorio pulled his hand free and shoved it down her pants and found her already wet. “Dio,” he gasped, crooking his fingers up into her. Annetta yelped in shock at the unfamiliar feeling of something inside of her. Vittorio paused at her reaction. “A-are you-?”

“Hey! What are you doing over there?!” Vittorio’s and Annetta’s heads snapped toward the mouth of the alleyway and the four guards that were quickly approaching. Vittorio’s hand snapped out automatically and a throwing knife embedded in one of the guards’ leg. Annetta’s own projectile wasn’t too far behind. However, hers was a smoke bomb that landed at their feet, stopping them as they started coughing on the smoke. Both the thieves darted out of the alleyway, and were aware that the other three members of the patrol that could still walk were chasing them.

As they ran, Vittorio turned to look at Annetta as her long black hair whipped behind her, and her recovered hat clasped in her hand. There was a huge smile on her face as if she were having the time of her life running from the guards. “Let’s see if you can keep up,” he challenged and she flashed him an excited grin.

“Are you sure _you_ can keep up with me?” she jeered right back. The young man had pulled up his mask once more so she couldn’t see his expression, but his caramel eyes were filled with amusement. As they led the guards on a good chase, they stuck together because, after all, they had unfinished business after they outran these bastardi. Every time she looked over at Vittorio she would see that same hungry look again. As soon as they lost their tail, then a private rendezvous was in order, and she didn’t care if it happened in the stables. By that point, anywhere was good even if it meant almost getting caught by guards again, and if she was really honest, the prospect excited her a little.

~o~

“I’m Annetta. W-what’s your name?” she asked breathlessly. She was lying on the hay next to Vittorio’s naked body afterwards, and wished she had a blanket. The stable wasn’t the most romantic place to have lost her virginity in, but after outrunning the guards the thieves had snuck in there to hide until they gave up the search. Even before they were safe, Vittorio couldn’t keep his hands to himself as he had fondled her against the wall they were hiding behind. She had hissed at him to stop or they would be caught, but nothing she said dissuaded him and pretty soon she was silently praying that they’d go away.

Vittorio paused momentarily as he always did when he was trying to decide if he could trust someone with his name. Nobody in the Thieves’ Guild knew the young man as being anything else beside the fake name he had been given. Vittorio didn’t trust anyone beside Elio, Alejandro, and Mario with his name; La Volpe not included because he’d never met the man. So, he couldn’t simply give this girl his name as freely as she had obviously given hers. He didn’t know her, and didn’t trust her.

He turned his body around so he was looking at her face, and saw her staring up at him earnestly. It was obvious she had been a virgin, because when he’d pushed into her she had cried in pain and clung fiercely to him. He was sure there would be blood, and he felt guilty that he had let his lust control him so he’d taken her on a pile of dirty hay. Annetta is what she said her name was, and he found it fitting for her. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful girl and he wished he could feel more than lust when he looked at her, but he didn’t.

“Piero,” he lied, the practiced smile coming easily to his face. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Annetta’s, and noticed that there was a lighter shade of black around her pupil. “It’s dangerous to remain here. We should go.”

The young woman deflated in disappointment. “Oh, yes, we should.” They dressed in silence, and when Vittorio turned to leave Annetta had not yet pinned her hair up so it swayed around her as she whipped around. “Will I see you again?” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

He glanced back at her and once more gave her that plastic smile that was meant to reassure her, but for some reason it filled her with sadness. “Of course you will. Just come back here every fourth day of the week, and I’ll be here.” Vittorio reached out to finger a strand of her vibrant black hair before he let it drop, and walked out of the stable.

When he’d gone she looked around at the stable and wondered if he had meant here. Annetta rushed over to the door with the intention to see him leave, but when she got there he was nowhere to be seen. She fell against the frame of the gate as her fingers wound the strands of her dark mane between the digits. It had started out as such a wonderful, passionate day, and had ended leaving her cold and abandoned. A few minutes later, she walked out of the stable with her hair pinned under her hat, and the persona of Yeoman firmly in place. When Ciro asked her why she was limping, she explained it away as an injury she’d gotten from the spare with “Piero”.

Annetta wondered if that was even his real name.

~o~

_1500_

She prowled along the rooftops as her sharp, black eyes observed the people walking down below on the streets. It was her job to spot the bait and then Ciro would do the stealing. They’d had a good day thus far since she had managed to spot three big purses, and he’d moved in, gotten the money and moved on without too much trouble. Now, she was looking for a fourth so they could call it a day and go home. Home, the concept was foreign to her, since that place had been seized by the Borgia along with all her family’s earthly possessions. Now, there were only temporary places where they rested during the nights, and it was a wonder that they had stayed where they were this long.

As she was choosing her next target, Annetta could admit that her mind started to wander elsewhere. To be more specific, her mind was on that night’s meeting with Piero. It was the fourth day of the week. _Piero._ That was the name he had given her when he’d taken her virginity, and for two years she hadn’t asked him what his real name was, since she knew that Piero wasn’t his name. It was only because a man named Alejandro had accidentally stumbled into Vittorio as he had arrived to the stables. He had made it seem as if he was on his way back from a mission, and Annetta had been eavesdropping behind the door. She had overheard Alejandro call him ‘Vittorio’.

Two years had passed since then, and she still didn’t know what to call their casual involvement. Or rather, Vittorio wouldn’t let her call it a romance, or even a relationship. He called it an ‘arrangement’ or their ‘situation’, but never anything else. Annetta knew what it was to _her_ after two years, and what had at first been just a fling had turned into something so deep that Vittorio’s indifference was a knife to her heart. Annetta was pretty sure she loved him, and it killed her that Vittorio didn’t feel the same way.

She couldn’t blame anyone but herself, since she’d let him sweep her into it knowing that all he wanted was to satisfy his lust. Annetta also knew that she wasn’t the only one, because she had seen him visit a brothel once or twice. The young woman could smell their cheap perfume on his clothes whenever they would meet up. Even knowing this hurtful information, she continued to let him use her, and as they were having sex she pretended it was because he loved her. That the filthy words he whispered in her words were endearments.

Annetta was thus distracted as she chose the next target. It was two men astride two fine looking horses, and one had black robes and the other was in white, whose features were obscured by a hood. Annetta figured they would be too distracted by their conversation to notice the theft. As she made a cooing sound reminiscent of a pigeon and signaled the target, she failed to notice the sword at his side, and that his hooded appearance made him appear mysterious, but dangerous.

Annetta inexplicably held her breath as Ciro weaved through the crowd with expert ease, finally breaking away and passing at a run to the slowly trotting horse. He snatched the man’s coin pouch and darted away, intending to disappear within the crowd. She was just about to turn away when the whine of a horse caught her attention. Her eyes darted back to the two men and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the hooded figure chasing down Ciro on the horse. The young girl experienced a moment of panic and dashed across the rooftops, trying to keep up with what was happening down below. If Ciro was hurt, then she’d never forgive herself for having been too distracted to notice that he was a threat.

A small cry of dismay escaped her throat when the white clad stranger leapt from on top of the horse and landed heavily on the thief. Annetta got off the roof with such urgency that it was a wonder she didn’t fall and break her neck. However, as soon as she hit the ground, Ciro was at her side and led her off without a word. She tried to say something, apologize for her mistake, and ask what had happened with the man, but he shushed her and Annetta obediently kept quiet. They took several detours and changed directions so many times that she lost track of where they were. Annetta had never seen Ciro this paranoid before, and she didn’t understand why this incident had been so significant. They had been caught in the act before and had to flee. The way the man had chased him down to recover the money and then simply let him go was very odd, but not enough to bring about this level of paranoia.

“Ciro, what’s happening?” she demanded as soon as they were inside their safe house. Instead of answering, the man started to run around and gather all their belongings. Annetta was stunned, since the last time they moved had been when a guard had followed her too close to their base for Ciro’s comfort, and they’d moved here. That had been almost three years ago. Although Annetta had started to think of this as her home, she didn’t question the man and started packing what they needed, but left what would slow them down. They were gone in five minutes.

It was ten minutes later that another man stepped through the threshold and stopped there to look around. He was clad in black robes and had dark hair chopped close to his scalp. It was obvious to him that both were long gone, and from here he had no idea where to start looking. Although La Volpe had told him of it, the sudden appearance of the lone thief had shocked him.

He had wanted to go after him, but chasing after him instead of sending Ezio would have looked strange. So, he had encouraged the man to chase after the thief while he had followed, and he had hoped that perhaps he would do the job for him. However, he had not expected Ezio to let him go, and Ciro had fled with Yeoman before he could intercept him. Although he had chased him, it was obvious that Ciro had not been idle all these years as he’d managed to lose his tail three times. By the time he had managed to find his trail, Ciro and the boy had enough time to get to the safe house, take what they could and flee.

The man knew that both of Ciro’s children had been killed, so he wondered of the identity of this street urchin simply known as ‘Yeoman’. If only Ciro had accepted his brother’s invitation to join the Thieves’ Guild, and then he would have had the man’s location. At the moment the Guild may be scattered and a bit unstable, but they had their hands full with trying to deal with the Cento Occhi. However, it had always been a strong ally to the Assassin Brotherhood dating back almost to the Crusades, and what’s more; La Volpe was a member of the Order himself.

Although, right now all three factions were estranged with the Order because _he_ had been trying to aid Ezio in his quest to recover the apple, and in the process he had failed to offer them aid when they most needed it. Now, it seemed that he may have to get Ezio’s help to restore the unspoken treaty they had with the Order. Ezio was not very good at accepting orders, so he’d have to manipulate the situation to where it was Ezio that brought up the idea as if it were his own.

As for Ciro, well, it was obvious that the man was reluctant to leave Roma if he was here after all these years, so he would definitely find him again. It was then that Niccolo Machiavelli and Ciro Petaccia would meet face to face once more, and Niccolo would have justice for his fallen brothers. After all, Ciro had betrayed the Order out of vengeance over his family’s deaths, but that information he had given the Templars had gotten two Assassins killed.

So, he would find him and kill him, and when he was finished making it look like suicide, Niccolo would take the boy and make him his own novice. He would whisper this in Ciro’s ear as he lay dying, and enjoy the look on the man’s face knowing that his boy would be a member of the same Order that had cost his family their lives; the Order he had betrayed.

~o~

As they settled down for the night in their new safe house in Centro, Annetta sat on the roof hidden by the shadow of the rooftop garden as the curtain billowed in the summer breeze. She was leaning against the structure as she stared up at the millions of stars overhead. Annetta’s mind wandered to the hated stables and wondered if Vittorio was there now, and if he would care whether she returned or not. She doubted he would. He had told her once that he preferred to have no attachments, and she had no doubt that he would easily find someone else to replace her with. The thought broke her heart and a lonely tear ran down her cheek, which she angrily wiped away. Annetta refused to shed any tears for him, because he wasn’t worth it.

Only, he really was worth it, but she had already allowed him to trample on her pride enough times. So, even if it meant tearing away a chuck of her heart, she wouldn’t go tonight. Annetta wouldn’t return ever again.

~o~

Vittorio vaulted over the broken wall in his path, planting one hand on the obstacle and swinging his body with ease over it. He cursed as he was spotted by a patrol and he ducked around the corner and into an alleyway. When he came out of the other side, he quickly jumped into a nearby well and held onto the edge for dear life. Vittorio heard the soldiers run by as they searched for him and when they had passed, he got out and ran in the other direction. When he was sure that they weren’t following him anymore, he slowed down, but this time made sure to stick to the shadows.

He knew he was being reckless, but Vittorio was a bit anxious to get to the abandoned stables where he met with Annetta, and had been meeting her for two years. It had been shut down a long time ago by the Borgia, so there were no horses there anymore. The scent of manure was faint but still there, and that was companied by the smell of stale hay. He could admit that it wasn’t the most romantic place to see the woman, but for a long time it was the only safe one for them to be together. The guards knew Vittorio’s face very well, and those that didn’t stopped him because the fact that he used the mask was suspicious. So, he had to meet her there.

Now, he could finally give her some good news, since she complained about the draft and the chill that no amount of blankets could dispel. Vittorio had stolen more than he usually did and set aside as much as he could to buy a small cottage just outside Campagna. He could give her a place where they could be together that didn’t bring her shame.

He could see it daily as the days passed, and that earnest expression that had been on her face had disappeared, and that light in her eyes had faded. Vittorio mourned for her playful grin and her laughter, which had slowly stopped making an appearance in the last year. That first year had been the best of his life even if he could only see her once a week. Annetta greeted him with a smile every night, and she’d tell him of the days that had passed since they had last seen one another. Vittorio would listen happily about the hijinks of a girl that the whole world thought was a teenage boy.

The young man hadn’t realized how much it would affect him not seeing her smile, or hear her giggle over a silly thing. He had entrenched himself so firmly in the belief that their arrangement was good the way it was; great sex and no attachments. Of course, he’d been wrong and first knew this the moment he noticed her slowly starting to distance herself from him. Vittorio had figured it was with the purpose of ending everything between them, and he’d been shocked by the fear he had felt when thinking that he may never see her again. So, he had started saving and three months ago he had bought the cottage and started to fix it up, so maybe with it he could _show_ her the feelings he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. Today was the day.

When he arrived, he was met with darkness and silence from the stables. Annetta was usually there before him so there was always lantern light to welcome him. It chilled him to see it this way and quickly lit the lantern with the flint they kept there. “She’s probably running late,” he tried to reassure himself. He started to clean up so it’d be nice when she showed up, and pulled down the mask because he knew she didn’t like it when he covered his face from her.

“You can hide it from the entire world, but never from me. I love your face,” she had told him when he had been reluctant to take it off while they were alone. The words had been too close to a love confession and he had drawn back, and become detached. He could tell that his detachment hurt her, but she was here the next night and she had smiled and laughed. As he waited for her to show up, he started to realize that it was the night everything had changed. In the time that had passed, weeks and months; being with her was the thing he anticipated the most. So, he noticed that the smiles and laughs had started to appear less frequently, and the stories became one less every day. It wasn’t too apparent at first since they only saw one another once a week, but when he did notice he had resolved to change.

He searched for a message, since he usually left her a message a day before whenever he didn’t show up due to a mission. Vittorio found no note after searching the whole stables twice. Annetta wasn’t there for some reason, and he felt dread fill him. It wasn’t because he thought that something had happened to her, but because she may have finally gotten tired of not hearing him say a word of affection, or call what they had a relationship.

Vittorio resolved to return tomorrow and see if Robyn had been the reason she hadn’t come tonight. That is what he would do.

Annetta wasn’t there the next night, or the next, or the fourth day of the next week. Vittorio knew then that she was never coming back.

~o~

Alejandro hesitated as he saw the stables come into view. It was the same one that he had found his friend at about a month ago, and although he had told Alejandro that he had simply been passing by after the mission, the man was no fool. After he pretended to leave, he doubled back and saw him enter the boarded up stables by pushing back a piece of loose piece of the wood. He had seen lantern light from inside, and that meant somebody had been waiting for him. When he didn’t come back half an hour later, he grew tired of waiting for him and left.

Now, he purposefully walked toward the stables because Vittorio had been gone a whole week without any news. Vittorio was an independent person and he came and went as he pleased, but he always reported in expect for the fourth day out of the week. He had told the both Petaccia brothers that he visited the brothel, but none of the whores had seen him in months when they went to ask. Elio had been beside himself with worry that perhaps Carlo had finally found the twenty-one year old, and Alejandro hadn’t said anything and he immediately headed here. Alejandro was sure he was here, but didn’t know the reason for it, but he was going to get answers.

When he was close enough, he heard the sound of wood and glass being broken, and Alejandro panicked and forced back the board and went in. He had expected to see Vittorio getting attacked or tortured by some guards or something, but what he saw was completely different. Vittorio himself was in a rage and was tearing the place apart as he broke several things that seemed out of place in the stables. A mattress filled with hay which had been stabbed and gutted lay in the corner, and a lantern had been thrown against the far wall as well as a few bowls, spoons, and even a morning pan and pitcher for washing the face.

“Vittorio!” he yelled as the young man was about to stomp on the already ruined mattress. His caramel eyes snapped toward him and Alejandro winced at the hard edge to them. He hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since that first night he’d woken up, and was still grieving his family and was determined to push everyone away. “What are you doing?”

Vittorio turned back to the destruction he had caused and seemed lost for a moment. He looked like that same lost, grieving boy he had been seven years ago and Alejandro himself felt grief for the suffering he saw in him. “Oh Dio, she’s gone,” he whispered. His legs crumpled under him as his ass hit the ground, and when Alejandro got to his side he saw his shoulders shaking and his face buried in his hands. He was shocked to realize that he was crying. Alejandro had never seen Vittorio cry before, and Elio had told him that the only time he’d witnessed it had been the first time he had killed a man. So, whoever this woman was must have been very important for Vittorio.

“Come on,” he murmured as he helped Vittorio to his feet. “Let’s get you home.” Vittorio shook his head as he let the older man lead him out of the wrecked stables.

“I lost everything again,” he sobbed, pressing a hand to his eyes. “And this time it’s my fault.” After that he refused to say anything more about the subject, and even Elio couldn’t get anything out of him. The young man tucked the grief and pain deep inside him, and pretended that nothing had happened.

He went right back to being the same as he had been, annoying Alejandro, protective of Elio, a smart-aleck to Mario, and distant toward the other thieves. The only thing that had changed was that he didn’t disappear every fourth day of the week anymore, and he also didn’t go anywhere near the brothel he had always frequented. Vittorio was in essence the same man, but those that truly knew him saw his grief every single day.

~o~

_1501_

“So, this is where you are,” a voice interrupted his contemplation. Vittorio shoved something back into his coat so it wouldn’t be seen as Elio came to stand at his side. They were overlooking the valley below, and in the center of the field filled with wild flowers was a small cottage. “Nice place. Who lives there?” Elio was use to speaking his mind, and Vittorio was responsible for that change. He had always been very blunt and Elio always copied him, but just for once he wished he wouldn’t ask anything.

Vittorio looked at the small house for several seconds without saying anything. Then he turned and started walking back toward the city limit. “Nobody.” He took to the rooftops as soon as he could, and Elio was not too far behind. The eighteen year old had been practicing his tailing using Vittorio as his guinea pig, and he had seen him come here several times. This was the first time he had approached him, and had been hoping that he would say something to him of the reason he came here. It had taken the place of his regular disappearances where Elio had assumed he went to visit the brothels, and seeing him here now he wasn’t too sure anymore.

As he stopped to allow a patrol to pass on the street below, Elio landed beside him with a grunt. “Then what were you doing there?” he insisted, knowing he was likely to snap at him but the curiosity was killing him. Vittorio merely gave him a baleful stare but said nothing and continued on the way they were going. They’d been returning from a mission and Elio had been the one in charge of going to get breakfast, however, Vittorio hadn’t been where he’d left him. He had found him staring at that small house, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there had been an object in his hand but he’d put it away too quickly for him to see it. 

As they neared the safe house, which was a cluster of small houses occupied by the thieves, Vittorio noticed something amiss. The look-outs on the roof were nowhere to be seen, and he hastily cut off Elio’s chatter. They ducked behind the rubble of a top floor of the next building, and from there he could see that the area below was crawling with guards.

Elio tensed beside him as they saw Alejandro and Mario get dragged into sight. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and they looked to have been beaten which suggested they hadn’t gone down without a fight. The guards moved aside to allow a man with a limp through as he came to stand in front of the two men. Vittorio felt sick at realizing that it was Carlo.

“We have to help them,” Elio whispered desperately, startling him out of his horror induced thoughts. Vittorio nodded and as the grim face thieves were questioned, they moved closer to scope the place and try and find a way to save them. Vittorio didn’t need to hear what they were saying, because he already knew what Carlo was asking. He wanted to know where Vittorio was, and the man knew the others wouldn’t ever tell him. So, the two of them had to think of a plan before Carlo grew bored with their refusal to speak and executed them. Already, Vittorio could see his agitation growing as he paced back and forth in front of the two Petaccia men.

As Vittorio cataloged their weapons, he wondered how his ex-teacher had managed to find their safe-house. The thieves were all careful not to lead anyone back there, and lookouts were posted on the roofs. Although, the patrol didn’t even pass through that area, so it couldn’t have been a coincidence. However, even if it were possible to have been a chance encounter, then how had Carlo found out he was here. Vittorio smelled a rat.

The inventory came back to ten throwing knives between the two of them, two daggers and four smoke bombs. They had depleted their supplies on their paid mission last night, which is the reason they hadn’t been at the safe-house when the attack had happened. Although, judging by the bodies of the thieves littering the area, it had been more of a massacre than a battle.

This mission they’d been on hadn’t been life threatening or anything, or at least, not for them or the Guild. A man had paid them to stage an ambush for several guards on horseback, and Vittorio would bet a good amount of fiorini that they’d been from one of the towers. Well, they didn’t ask too many questions once the money had been paid, but he was curious as to what the whole thing had accomplished. Also, this was usually something left up to the mercenaries. Of course, they had their hands full with the French, so it was doubtful they would have accepted the mission. The Thieves’ Guild wasn’t as overwhelmed by the Cento Occhi anymore, but their small group still lived in Campagna and every time they had to relocate they became more scattered and weakened. So, they needed the money the mission would have brought in, but it wouldn’t have been enough and Mario had been suggesting their small group to move to La Volpe Addormentata soon to be safer. Vittorio hadn’t been in agreement with the idea, but if they got through this then they would surely move there.

Elio looked from their weapons to Vittorio’s grave expression. “We’re not leaving them to die,” he hissed angrily.

After everything they had been through, and Elio and Alejandro being the only people he’d told about his family, he wanted to hit him for even thinking it. The only reason he didn’t do it was because the guards might hear Vittorio punching Elio. “If you think I would do that, then you don’t know me at all,” he growled. Elio looked guilty for a moment before his face hardened as he nodded. There was no need to apologize, and no time either. “Take the smoke bombs and the throwing knives, and move to the next rooftop without being spotted.” Elio took the knives and slipped them into the bandolier strapped to his waist, and stored the smoke bombs into his pouch.

“When I give the signal, kill the guards closest to Alejandro and Mario, and then use them smoke bombs to cover their retreat.” Vittorio took both daggers, a stiletto and a Notched Cinquedea, and strapped them with one at either hip so he could draw them easily later. “When I engage the guards, cover my progress with the smoke bombs until I signal a stop.” He turned to meet Elio’s eyes. “And don’t you dare try to join the fight. Once I signal the retreat, you leave and meet with Alejandro and Mario at the rendezvous point.”

Elio looked like he wanted to argue, but the seventeen year old knew he’d only get in the way while unarmed. So, he reluctantly nodded as he readied a smoke bomb in one hand, and two throwing knives in the other. “Andiamo,” he urged. They clasped hands and separated as Elio quickly went across the rope connecting this roof to the next. Meanwhile, Vittorio climbed down the side of the building when the coast was clear, and discreetly made his way closer. As he stopped behind the ruins of a house, he peered over the edge to see everybody’s positions.

There were three guards that were the closest to his objective, and one had his back toward Vittorio. The other two were on either side of Mario and Alejandro. From what he could see of Carlo’s pacing, he couldn’t wait any longer to give Elio the signal. He would wait to leave his hiding place until Elio had made the first kill.

The first attack after he gave the signal took out the two guards on the side of the prisoners. Vittorio jumped into view and came up behind the third guard and cut his throat while he was too busy staring at his comrades in disbelief. It was obvious he was a novice, but Vittorio had no time to feel sorry for his young life cut short. Then the first smoke bomb went off as Vittorio rushed forward and cut their bindings quickly.

“Correte!” he shouted. As they obeyed without question, Vittorio turned to engage the first of the twelve guards still in the area. When he killed him, he saw Carlo through the fading smoke as he stood back as if he was waiting for something. The second bomb went off as the next few guards tried to swarm him, and the smoke filled the area again. Vittorio killed four guards by the time it cleared. He took a deep breath as the third one flew toward them, and he ruthlessly killed five more while they coughed and hacked on the fumes. The man held his hand up to stall the last one, and signaled for Elio to retreat.

He took up a defensive stance when he saw the youth disappear from sight where he was positioned on the roof, and only Carlo and two guards remained. “Finally, after so many years, I found you, Vittorio.” The older man slipped the same jagged edged knife he had planned on using on Vittorio once. “Seeing you again brings back such lovely memories.” Vittorio’s attention was on the two guards that were circling him, but he could hear every word Carlo was saying and he was not unaffected. “It’s hard to forget how your mother whimpered and moaned like a whore as I took her.”

His words made him falter and as a result, one of his daggers was knocked out of his left hand, and he staggered away from an attack. Vittorio cursed his stupidity at letting Carlo get to him even after eight years. His mother was dead and gone, and this monster couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Vittorio twisted away from a downwards swipe of the guard’s sword, and he caught him by the wrist with his free hand, and used the armed one to cut his throat in a spray of blood. However, the second man used his comrades’ demise to his advantage and Vittorio got a face full of dirt when he turned away from the falling man, and stumbled back. His Notched Cinquedea was knocked out of his hand, and a boot connected with his gut that knocked him to the ground. This was the man’s chance to finish him off, but he walked around him and forced him to his feet, trapping his arms behind his back. It was obvious that he’d been informed beforehand not to kill Vittorio, and the man knew it was because Carlo wanted to kill Vittorio himself.

As the man moved toward him, he knew that this was it, and somehow he’d always known it would be him, and not Carlo that died the day they met again. The only thing he could think as Carlo’s pulled back the dagger was that he would have wanted to see Annetta one last time.

The snap of the smoke bomb was his only warning before the area was filled with the fumes that choked Vittorio. He hadn’t been expecting it as he coughed, but he drove his elbow into his captor’s stomach to make him let go. “Run Vittorio!” It was Elio, and he had thought the youth had left to meet with his father and brother. He could hear him running toward them, but he was blind in the smoke.

Vittorio realized too late that only two sets of coughs could be heard, his and the guard’s, and the next thing he heard was the squelch of metal piercing flesh. As the smoke dissipated, he saw Carlo step away from Elio as he pulled his weapons back so Elio’s shirt slowly stained with blood. Elio lifted his too young eyes toward Vittorio, who was the person that was supposed to keep him safe.

 ** _“No!”_** The scream that tore from his throat didn’t even sound human as he rushed forward, and caught Elio as he crumpled. He gently guided him down so he was sitting in his lap like a child. He tried to speak but he choked on his blood as it spilled past his lips to dribble down his chin. “Don’t talk, it’s alright. You’re gonna be fine.”

Elio gave a pain laugh as he flashed him that skeptical look that he always wore when someone tried to hide the truth from him. Then he coughed and moaned from the pain. “I-I’m scared,” he admitted in a small voice. Vittorio was reminded of that ten-year-old he had watched grow.

Vittorio knew what was coming, and he wanted to shout and rant at the heavens and God about the unfairness of it all. However, he knew that Elio needed Vittorio to comfort him now, and he would not fail him again. “Don’t be afraid, because I’m right here with you. I’m not the best company, but it could be worse,” he tried to joke, but his laugh came out strained and fake.

Elio smiled with his mouth full of blood and leaned forward, and Vittorio met him halfway so their foreheads touched. “You’re my brother just as Alejandro is.” He frowned as his eyes shifted. “Papa said next week when I became a real member of the Guild, but now I’ll never meet La Volpe.”

He would be eighteen in four days, and he would have taken the Oath given by La Volpe himself. “You will meet him,” he lied, reaching out to run his hand through his spiky, dark brown hair. Elio had already lost too much blood, and his skin was already starting to feel cold and clammy.

Elio clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in agitation. “Stop treating me like a child,” he whispered. Those were his last words as his head fell to the side, and his unseeing eyes were left staring up at the clouds marring the pristine blue sky.

Vittorio’s breath hitched in a sob as he pulled his limp body against him, burying his tear soaked face into Elio’s shoulder. His whole world was centered on the dead boy in his arms, his brother and the person he had sworn he would protect when they had both been in that cage eight years ago.

Carlo finally came over to him, and Vittorio knew he hadn’t interrupted him until now so he could suffer the torment of having Elio die in his arms. Even then, he was numb as he neared now to finally kill him, but the bastard never got the chance.

A white robed figure swooped down as Carlo turned, and he saw his last subordinate getting killed by a lithe figure in black before a blade pierced through his ribs to find his heart. He met dark brown eyes as his widened in shock, and then he crumpled as Ezio Auditore da Firenze shoved him off his blade. Then he turned to the sobbing man holding the adolescent’s body, and recognized the dead kid as Mario Petaccia’s boy. It seems he had not been in time to prevent this tragedy, and now he didn’t know how to approach the young man to ask him to join the Order.

Giorgio Vitelli had known of Rodrigo Borgia’s treachery and his bribery of the cardinals so he could become the next pope. So, he had started to gather incriminating evidence, and proof that the accusations made toward wealthy families was only to have a reason to legally seize their fortunes. Of course, the man had died before he could bring the information to light, but it was rumored that it was hidden in a secret compartment of his office. At the moment, the only one that would know where it was located was the only surviving member of the family.

“Vittorio Vitelli,” the man called quietly as he approached. The young man didn’t lift his head from where it was bent so he could bury his face into the Petaccia boy’s shoulder. However, he knew he was listening to him despite not having lifted his gaze toward him, so he continued forward until he crouched next to them. “I understand you’re suffering at the moment, but I’ve come to offer you the means to stop the people that caused this.” Vittorio finally lifted his face and Ezio saw for the first time the scar that bisected half of his bearded face. “Carlo Barbarigo was part of a slave ring set up by Cesare Borgia, but Carlo’s death won’t stop it.”

Vittorio wiped his face against his sleeve. “What do I have to do,” he asked. He didn’t have anything left, but vengeance sounded really good right then. If he could stop these slave rings then he could stop the people that had not only sent to hurt his family, but also given Carlo the means to ambush them which lead to Elio’s death.

“Before his death, your father gathered incriminating evidence on Alexander VI. We believe he had it in a hidden place in his office, and with it was a list of corrupt officials in his pocket. The slavery is just one of the things being used to oppress Roma, but its liberation has begun and you can stand with us and fight.” He held out his gloved hand toward the twenty-two year old, which Vittorio took after a moment of hesitation. “Welcome to the Brotherhood.”

The young woman that had killed the guard came forward then and Vittorio frowned up at her. She was almost as tall as Ezio and very attractive, but there appeared to be a fragile quality to her. “This is Fabiola,” Ezio introduced the young woman. “She doesn’t speak, but she will help you with the Petaccia boy.” Vittorio’s eyes snapped toward him suspiciously for knowing the boy’s surname. “La Volpe is part of our organization. He asked for our help at hearing of the attack, since Mario Petaccia is one of his most trusted thieves. I had a chance to meet him during his days living in Firenze, and I met his children when they were bambini.”

Vittorio sighed deeply as he nodded, and the young woman came over toward them. She crouched down in front of him and slowly reached over to close Elio’s eyes, and then surprised him by lifting the boy’s dead weight out of his arms as she stood with ease. Fabiola walked toward one of the empty houses that had once housed Claudio and his father. After the young woman’s injury, both father and son had moved to The Sleeping Fox. Now with Elio’s death, Mario and Alejandro would surely go there as well.

Being away from the main group of thieves had been for Vittorio’s benefit, since being allowed to stay there meant he would _have_ to take the Oath. He knew that after eight years, Mario Petaccia possibly saw him as one of his children, but now all he would surely see when he saw Vittorio would be the man that got his son killed.

 

There was a man inside the house dressed in the same black attire as the woman and was taller than Vittorio. He was five feet and eight inches tall himself, and this guy was a good four or five inches taller. Even Fabiola was almost as tall as he was, and he wondered who these people were. She glanced at him momentarily and could have sworn he saw amusement in her eyes, but then she moved forward as the man pulled back the sheet so she could lay Elio down. As soon as she did, Fabiola stepped away to let Vittorio be at his side, and both of them left the house when Elio’s father and brother appeared. Fabiola and her twin brother, Augusto stood guard at the door as the men grieved the youngest member of their family. It was heart breaking to listen to, but they dutifully stood there to make sure they weren’t disturbed. They didn’t say a word about what they heard; even when the arguing started after Vittorio told them he planned to join the Brotherhood.

Inside, Vittorio had collapsed in a nearby chair as Mario tore into him about having decided this without consulting either of them. “I have direct involvement with the Assassins all the time, and they do dangerous missions. All of them don’t make it back alive.”

Vittorio was staring at the ground and the dust that was being picked up by the older man’s pacing. “Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” he finally spoke. Vittorio felt so exhausted and emotionally drained. “I got Elio killed.” Although the last part was said in almost a whisper, it resounded through the room like thunder.

Alejandro spoke up where Mario was too stunned to do so, and his voice sounded like it was ripped from him. “Don’t you say that! We don’t blame you for this.” Vittorio tore his gaze away from the dust flurries, and met Alejandro’s dark brown eyes.

“He came back to save _me_ , and I let that mostro kill him.” Vittorio buried his face into his hands, but there were no more tears. He felt so spent. “I wasn’t strong enough to save your brother.”

Vittorio felt Alejandro grab him by the lapels of his coat before he dragged him to his feet. “You’re our brother as well! That’s why he came back! _I_ would have come back if I thought you were in danger!” Alejandro couldn’t get Vittorio to meet his gaze, and he was desperate to get through to him. The younger man was self-destructive when he was grieving, and he feared what he may do if they allowed him to go off on his own.

He’d been suffering from heartbreak since last fall, and this is the reason either Alejandro or Elio had accompanied him on any mission he went to during the past five months. Although Elio was technically still considered a novice, he was taking partnered missions at the Master level. Even so, the youth had not been ready to face someone at Carlo’s level. Vittorio himself hadn’t been ready, and had confided in Elio that he was sure his ex-teacher had held back in his lessons all those years ago while he waited for the order to attack.

While Vittorio trusted Alejandro, Elio was the one he confided in the most, and the person that had managed to get him to open up to Alejandro and Mario. Now with Elio’s death Alejandro saw the man closing himself off in a way he hadn’t seen since he’d been fourteen years old, and too scared to trust anyone. So he shook him to get him to react, or to get him to at least look him in the eyes. “Look at me, damn it!”

Vittorio’s eyes had been staring beyond Alejandro’s shoulder to the space between the door and the ground. He could see the unmoving shapes of Fabiola and that man, and he wondered if they could hear everything they were saying. Now, his gaze shifted toward Alejandro and the other despaired at the dull look in his caramel eyes. “I’m joining the Assassins,” he said with finality. He reached out and slowly pried the other man’s hands off his coat. Vittorio moved around Alejandro without another word, or a glance in Mario’s direction. He couldn’t bear to look at him right now, and it was partially out of worry of what he’d see in his face.

“We’ll send a message with the day of your brother’s burial...son,” Mario called. Vittorio froze in his tracks and lowered his head, but he only nodded and continued out the door. One day he would be able to come back and not feel guilt, but for now he would go with these people and seek vengeance. At the moment, it was the only thing that kept him from succumbing completely to his grief.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeoman - While the precise meaning of this term changed over time, including free retainers of an aristocrat and small landholders, it always referred to commoners.
> 
> Porca Bastardo - filthy bastard  
> non pene - no dick  
> bandito - bandit  
> Bene - good  
> La Volpe Addormentata - The Sleeping Fox  
> bambini - babies/children


	20. Past and Present Heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not satisfied with the title, but I was thinking about it all day and this is what I could come up with. So, yeah. There is a quote in here somewhere that was supposedly said by Giovanni di Lorenzo de’Medici when Alexander VI became pope. It felt right to use it, and I claim no ownership, although it is said to be a “popular misquotation”.

**Chapter Twenty:** _Past and Present Heartbreak_

_August 11, 1492_

As the white smoke rose from the furnace, a great cheer rose from those gathered in the piazza that was composed of praises toward God and jubilant singing. The people hugged each other and some were even weeping openly. It was truly an awe-inspiring sight and almost everyone was filled with joy, but there were a few grim faces in the exuberant crowd. One of them was a finely dressed man with straight blonde hair that was kept short, and he had ebony eyes with a lighter shade of black around the pupil. While everyone celebrated the election of a new Pope, this man looked very troubled as he started to move through the crowd. Even though he was dressed so finely, he moved past the jostling crowd with an ease that was better suited for a seasoned warrior, a predator, or an assassin.

He passed by the crowds and walked along the practically deserted streets. After several dozen streets, he ducked into an alleyway and into a door that was hidden by some crates that had been stacked there. The blonde haired man allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light in the room that was only lit by a single torch in the corner. He stiffened as he heard movement close by, and his hand settled on the hilt of his dagger.

“Alfonso,” a voice whispered that he immediately recognized. The one that had spoken stepped out of the shadows cast by a shelf, and was revealed as the infamous thief, La Volpe. His ever present hood cast his violet eyes in darkness, and the visible part of his face was twisted into a frown. “I assume you were out in the piazza?”

Alfonso nodded with a grave expression on his weary face. “Now we are in the power of a wolf, the most rapacious perhaps that this world has ever seen. And if we do not flee, he will inevitably devour us all.” La Volpe agreed with the man’s words, and then held out a hand. Alfonso removed some papers within the folds of his opulent clothing, and handed them to La Volpe. “It wasn’t easy to get, but here is a list of Rodrigo’s supporters and financers, and those that openly opposed his ascension to the papacy.”

The light haired man undid the collar a bit since he really detested these fancy clothing. The only reason he wore them was because it was part of his role as a wealthy man from Northern Italy that dealt with expensive pieces of art such as paintings and sculptures. It had been his cover for almost ten years and he was so deeply undercover that his own twelve-year-old daughter didn’t know the truth. Alfonso would love to keep her in the dark forever, but the Templars were growing more powerful and influential every day. It would soon be impossible not to involve her.

He was well aware of how spoiled and dependent on all the luxuries she had become. She had no female role models except for the servant women that waited on her hand and foot. Alfonso was often too busy with his information gathering and keeping his cover, that he only had time to give her the occasional lesson. Lord knows he tried his best to be a good father, and as a result he ended up spoiling her. He knew that it would be his fault when he finally had to go back into the fold of the Brotherhood, and all those luxuries would be gone and his daughter would not be able to cope.

“The list is short,” La Volpe commented. He had no need to expound on what he meant, since Alfonso knew he was referring to the names of people that opposed him. The people on that list were only those that mattered, and that had the wealth and connections to make it difficult for Rodrigo Borgia. Alfonso knew what the other Assassin would say to him, and he already had a name in mind.

Giorgio Vitelli.

He was a very wealthy man that was heavily involved in the shipping business. The man owned several boats and some sailed all the way to England and even France, and thus he was the most of the influential men that opposed Rodrigo Borgia. Alfonso would have to arrange a meeting with him and find out what the man knew about the Spaniard. Although, he’d first have to gain the man’s trust and that would take time, and said as much to La Volpe.

The other man nodded. “We need to gather any incriminating evidence, because it’s only a matter of time until he uses the papal seat to further his own agenda.” After another quick look through the list, he moved the papers toward the torch at his side, and the ends curled away black before the whole thing caught fire. La Volpe held them until Alfonso was sure he’d be burned, but released them at the last possible second.

Alfonso watched the falling pieces of charred parchment, some parts still on fire, and then they were nothing more than ash. Of course, they both knew that with a Templar as the Pope, then the Assassins would have their work cut out for them. So, Alfonso would arrange the meeting before the day was out. “This mission is considered of the utmost importance.” Alfonso gave a sharp nod, and knew that with Rodrigo Borgia in charge; no Assassin would be safe in Roma.

~o~

_February 08, 1493_

The streets of Roma were dark and empty at this time of night, and in the distance the howling of a wolf could be heard. A figure walking down one of those supposed empty streets flinched at the sound. He paused to listen apprehensively in the shadows of the building he was passing, but when the night was otherwise quiet, he walked on. Although, the word quiet wouldn’t be the correct word to use, since the cracking of lit torches was heard every time he passed one, also the cicadas buzzed a loud hum, and his own boots on the cobblestone street were too loud on this cold night. So, the man had quite a soundtrack as he continued on his way.

As he arrived at a small house, he pushed aside the gate and ducked around the side. He passed a garden whose flowers were dark shapes in the night and wondered a moment if it was magnificent during the day. Then he pushed the absurd thought away and went up to the door. The man wasn’t foolish enough to go in without the practiced knock, or he’d likely end up as a pincushion. So, he rapped on it four times in rapid succession, paused before giving two slow solid knocks, and then three fast knocks once more. He waited with baited breath as he glanced nervously behind him when he heard a dog barking nearby.

The door finally opened a tiny crack and he shifted forward so the dim light from inside would reveal his face. “You’re early,” a rough voice snapped, and he was still surprised whenever he heard it. He had met this man the day after Rodrigo Borgia had been announced as the next Pope, and taken the name Alexander VI. They had started a business relationship and it had grown into a friendship, and had even met his daughter, which had been twelve years old at the time. During those five months he had thought that Alfonso Abete was just a Mercante D’Arte, and on the sixth month the blonde man had identified himself as a member of an organization that wanted to get the current Pope out of the Holy Seat. That’s when he’d truly had the chance to know the real Alfonso Abete.

“I was able to get the information earlier than I anticipated,” he hastily informed him. He really wished Alfonso would let him in, because he was nervous being out in the open. However, Alfonso blocked him as he made to enter as the other opened the door wide, but only stepped outside with him and closed the door. Giorgio only got a glimpse of the inside, but he knew there were others inside the house with the man as the soft murmur of voices had been heard a moment before he’d closed the door.

“I cannot allow you to enter, Giorgio,” he said firmly. The cold steel in his voice stopped the protest before it formed on his lips. “You will return here at the same time tomorrow night.” Giorgio knew better than to insist on the meeting right now and instead stepped away as Alfonso went back in. The voices had gone quiet and the man flinched as the door was slammed in his face. He sighed and rubbed a hand against the nape of his neck, then left the same way he’d come with the resolve to return tomorrow night.

It wasn’t because he feared Alfonso Abete, because they had remained friends even after the man had revealed his true intentions. He wasn’t scared even when he found out how dangerous the man was since he knew that he was working toward a goal that would benefit Giorgio. That goal was removing Alexander VI from his seat of power, so he could get back to his shipping business.

A month before the new pope was chosen; a day after Innocent VIII had passed, Rodrigo Borgia had paid him a visit. At the time the man had been a Cardinal, and as a good Catholic Giorgio had welcomed him into his home. During the whole encounter the man had spoken of the church and how now more than ever they needed the support of the faithful, and how he would have more in the Kingdom of Heaven. Giorgio couldn’t really say if he had ever been a man of faith, but his family had always been devout Catholics and given generously to the church.

However, that day he had noticed a cynicism in his tone as he spoke of God, Heaven and the church. In business, he trusted his gut instinct, and at the moment it was telling him not to give Cardinal Borgia any money. So, Giorgio decided to trust that feeling in this situation. He politely explained to the man that he would be more than happy to make that donation on Sunday, in the collection plate. The gleam in Rodrigo Borgia’s gaze could have struck him dead in that moment. Then the man had smiled chillingly before he left with the promise to return.

Giorgio had still not gotten that visit.

Then he had learned that Cardinal Borgia was one of the Cardinals that were being considered to be the next Pope. He had believed that the man’s vengeance would be swift once he’d been made Pope. So far, he had been untouched and had thought that it was likely one of two reasons. It was rumored but not substantiated –anyone with evidence tended to mysteriously disappear– that Rodrigo Borgia had bought the largest number of votes, so the first reason was that his wealth was too depleted to chance making a move at the moment. The second reason was that he wanted to stretch it out as Giorgio became more and more paranoid as time went by. Now, the man was suspicious of anyone that looked at him too long, or if a beggar loitered near or around his house. So, when he had gotten the information two days earlier than anticipated, he had rushed over to Alfonso’s house without thinking about whether the man would be available.

Giorgio glanced back at the house as he passed through the gate and wondered if that was truly his home or not. He had been inside numerous times, and it had everything a person of a high status could or would need, but everything was so impersonal in the impeccable house. It seemed to lifeless, and anyone that entered would think no one lived there.

The man brought his cold hands to cup around his mouth and blew on them in an attempt to warm them. It hadn’t been a bitter winter that year, and spring would soon be upon them. It hadn’t snowed since December, but even then it had been a small amount that had melted when morning came. This particular night wasn’t as cold as most, but it was enough that his breath came out white. This is the reason he pulled his coat more firmly around his body and hurried down the street.

However, he went in the opposite direction of his house, since Giorgio didn’t really feel like going home to see his wife in her delirium, or look into his son’s closed off caramel eyes. He was pained when he looked at him and saw his beloved daughter in his face, but his eyes were wrong. Giorgio shook these thoughts off as he arrived at a brothel several streets away, and tomorrow it wouldn’t take him long to get back to Alfonso’s house. Afterwards, he could return to the whore’s warm bed.

As he arrived at the house of ill-repute, he didn’t notice the figure that had been trailing him since he’d left Alfonso’s house. The man was tall with broad shoulders and a slender waist, wearing dark clothing and a Milanese sword strapped to his waist. As Giorgio entered the brothel, the man turned back around the way Giorgio had come and moved steadily in that direction.

~o~

The next night was colder still as Giorgio braved the elements and headed over to Alfonso’s house. It was early and not even ten but there were few that wanted to be out in the cold so the streets were relatively empty. Giorgio avoided any torch light as if he were allergic to it, and after several times making sure he wasn’t being followed, he finally arrived. The lavish house was dark and silent, and Giorgio hesitated to go past the gate. However, he figured that Alfonso had extinguished the torchlight in anticipation of his visit, so he ducked around the side. When he arrived at the backdoor, he quickly knocked in the same manner as before. He anxiously waited for the man to come to the door, and when several long seconds had passed with no answer, Giorgio’s anxiousness turned to worry. Where there was no answer to his second knocking, he felt fear grip his heart as he stepped back cautiously.

Giorgio would have given into his cowardice and fled then if Alfonso’s safety as well as his daughter’s wasn’t in danger. So, he swallowed the knot of anxiety and opened the door, wincing as it creaked loudly. He slipped inside, and was grateful for the moonlight that came in through the windows so he wasn’t completely blind in the dark. Giorgio contemplated turning on a torch, but he didn’t dare in case there was someone waiting to ambush him. Thus he continued on in the dark with his heart in his throat, and a hand firmly on the hilt of his dagger. He usually had a body guard and thus saw no need to carry a sword, and now he was regretting it since his dagger wouldn’t give him the reach necessary to strike at an attacker; especially if they were armed with swords.

Now that he was inside, Giorgio could hear muffled voices coming from deep in the house. As he moved further in, they got louder and he identified two distinctively unfamiliar voices, but he was still unable to hear exactly what they were saying. He arrived at a hallway that stretched in two distinct directions, left or right with a wall in front. It was from the right that Giorgio could hear the sounds of someone being beaten, and he winced at a hearing the sharp snap of something breaking. A third voice screamed in pain and Giorgio stepped back in fear, and wanted to run away because he could be next.

However, Giorgio heard the next words spoken and it made him stop his retreat. “If you won’t talk, Assassin, then perhaps your daughter knows something.” Even from where he was, Giorgio could hear the threat behind those words and so did Alfonso.

“No!” the third voice shouted again, and this time Giorgio identified Alfonso’s voice. He was torn on what to do, since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take on two opponents. As he was trying to decide what action to take, he was aware of quiet sobbing coming from somewhere close by toward the left. The man heard them start torturing Alfonso again, asking him questions that Giorgio couldn’t quite make out, and he moved toward the sobbing. He knew his friend well, and he’d want Giorgio to help his daughter even if Alfonso was in danger.

When he arrived at the door, he pressed an ear to it and listened to make sure there was nobody else in the room. The man determined that there were no other voices heard, and it was also secured in place from the outside as a means of keeping the girl contained. After removing the fireplace poker that was keeping the door from opening, he quickly slipped inside the dark room that lit up with two candles, and it was obviously the girl’s bedroom. The drawers from the vanity had been pulled open and emptied, and the mattress and everything had been pulled off the bedframe. It almost seemed like they’d been looking something, but Giorgio couldn’t figure out what.

The teenager was huddled behind the bedframe, tucked into a corner with her legs hugged to her chest. Her white, once pristine silk nightgown had been splattered with mud and blood. He could see a deep gash along her forearm, and Giorgio hoped they hadn’t hurt the child too badly. At least, he hoped for her sake that her virtue was intact, but Giorgio wasn’t about to ask.

“Annetta?” he whispered as he moved toward her. The poor girl gave a breathless sob and curled more into the corner. “No, calmarsi, it’s Giorgio. I’ve come to take you to safety.” She finally lifted her face and saw that her pale skin was marred by a bruised and bloodied lip. It was obvious that she had either gotten slapped or backhanded, and it had most likely been done by the men that had come for Alfonso. Giorgio wondered for a moment if _he_ might be responsible for leading them there, but quickly dismissed it. He had been very cautious, so there was no way he was responsible for this.

Annetta looked behind Giorgio in confusion with those strange eyes of her, ebony but with an almost gray ring around the pupils. “Papa?” she whimpered, and her meekness was a contrast to the spoiled, haughty child he had met. She was obviously frightened for herself and her father, and Giorgio didn’t want to worry her. The girl was most likely already starting to go into shock.

“He will follow us at a later time,” he reassured her, knowing it was a lie. However, he couldn’t risk upsetting her and alerting those men of his presence before he managed to get her out. So, he quickly ushered her to the window to help her climb out onto the roof, and she could wait while he went to help Alfonso. As he opened the shutters and leaned out to check it was safe, he saw a man’s shadow out of the corner of his eye. He turned as the crossbowman came into view, however, his eyes were not looking in his direction, and by the time he turned Giorgio had already closed the shutters without a sound. It was very unlikely that the soldier would open the shutters and look inside, but both of them ducked out of sight regardless. Giorgio hadn’t noticed the man when he’d walked up, but that meant that he hadn’t seen him either or he would have already alerted those inside of his presence.

When the guard moved on, Giorgio immediately went to the door and opened it as the torchlight from the hall flooded into the room and he listened, but he heard nothing. The silence was heavy with dread, and he swallowed his bile down as his mind thought of the worst possible outcome. He turned toward Annetta as she stared up at him with frightened eyes, and Giorgio tried to smile reassuringly as he took her smaller hand in his. The man quickly led her back the way he’d come, but paused halfway there as he spotted the wardrobe that looked big enough to hide the girl.

His mind started to work in overtime as he tried to think of trying to leave with her now. The chances were highly probable that the crossbowman would see them and alert the others. A chase would happen and one or both would be caught and wind up dead. However, if he took the girl out of the equation, then both of their possibilities of survival greatly increased.

The wardrobe full of sheets and blankets would seem out of place in the hallway, but there was a small niche where it fit and almost made it seem part of the wall. Giorgio quietly opened the door and urged the girl inside, and she climbed mechanically into the enclosed space. It was right next to the room that Alfonso had been tortured in, and hoped she didn’t go in there for any reason. “Wait here, and don’t move until I come back for you, capito?” he whispered urgently, anxious that any moment now he’d heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He could hear the murmur of the men’s voices, and knew that soon they’d come out and look for her. Giorgio couldn’t fathom what they would need from her, but he was sure it wasn’t for any good reason.

Annetta just stared up at him; clearly in shock, and he shook her a bit by the shoulders to get her to react. When she only nodded, Giorgio sighed and knew it was the best answer he was going to get at the moment. He smiled once more before he enclosed her in darkness, and waited a beat to make sure she didn’t panic. When he didn’t hear anything, he hurried down the hall toward the stairs.

Once he was outside, he searched the darkened grounds while keeping in mind the crossbowman on the roof. As he found a cart, an idea formed within his mind as he quickly led the horse out of the small stables and got it hooked to the small cart he’d found. Giorgio rushed back inside and into the kitchen, and found several table cloths that he rolled and tied together to make a large bundle. When it was the size of a girl, he used a spare one to drape around the whole thing and carried it outside. The man waited until the guard on the roof would see him before going outside. At that moment he heard shouts from within the house, and realized those inside the house had discovered that Annetta was missing.

He knew the moment he was spotted as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a crossbow bolt slammed into the ground two inches away from his right foot. He dashed out of his line of fire, and the crossbowman started shouting and banging on one of the window shutters. Giorgio quickly put the bundle in the back, tucked into the corner and weighed down so it wouldn’t fly out when the cart started moving. He hopped onto the driver’s seat as he picked up the reigns and flicked them hard as the horse whinnied in pain before going into a full out gallop. The men were at the door as he was passing the gate, which he’d opened earlier as he’d been searching the grounds. “Bastardo! He’s got the girl!” Giorgio managed to hear one of them shout before he was out of earshot.

Even as he left them behind, Giorgio knew it wouldn’t take them long to catch up, so he snapped the reigns and tried to make the horse to go faster. He would try to lose them, and then he’d return for the girl and secret her away along with his own family. Giorgio once more wondered hot this could have happened to Alfonso, who had assured him that his cover was iron-tight. Alfonso had told Giorgio that besides Giorgio, only two other people knew he was an Assassin, and he trusted those men with his life. And yet those men had known him for what he was, and Giorgio had _heard_ them calling Alfonso an Assassin.

As Giorgio led the two men on horseback further into Centro district, he never once considered that the Templars had found Alfonso because they’d been following him.

~o~

Annetta tucked her slender body as far as she could inside the wardrobe as she heard the furious yells from outside and then the men running down the hallway. She thought back to when she’d first gone to bed, and didn’t know what had awoken her. Then she noticed the man at the foot of her bed, and she’d cried out as he had grabbed her. The man had manhandled her out of bed as she screamed, cursed, and kicked at him. Then she had bitten his arm, and he had yelled and back-handed her as Annetta’s head had snapped back with the force of the hit. Annetta had been limp as they carried her to the corner and thrown her down. Then they had proceeded to search every inch of the room, and if she hadn’t been struggling to stay conscious, Annetta would have screamed at them as they broke her bottles of expensive perfume.

They weren’t even trying to miss her as a few of the bottles narrowly missed hitting her, and one of the shards managed to cut a gash along her forearm. When they were finally done, they left the room and heard them jam it closed with something. It wouldn’t budge when she tried to open the door after she had recuperated enough to stand. A guard with a crossbow was blocking her way when she tried to escape through the window, so she resigned herself to the corner and was mindful of the shards.

Annetta sat and waited and wept, but her father never came to save her. Instead, Messere Giorgio had appeared and she thought they were safe, but her father hadn’t been with him. The man tried the window before she could tell him about the guard, but then he quickly closed the shutters and hid them until the guard had passed. Then he tried the hallway, which was quiet and made a shiver of fear race down her spine. She was trembling when he asked her to get into the wardrobe and she entered it with minimal fuss. He said something but it felt like cotton was stuffed into her ears, and only nodded when he shook her slightly. Then he had shut her in darkness and she was alone once more.

She flinched when the men had started shouting as they realized she wasn’t where they had left her. Annetta could hear them start searching the rooms as they got closer to where she was hiding. The thirteen year old had started sobbing quietly because she was sure they’d find her any minute. Then the crossbowman had started to shout and hitting on one of the shutters. Their pounding footsteps were heard moving and fading away. “Bas-! He’s...girl!” Annetta could barely make out the words, and they were suddenly gone as the house went silent. Annetta grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her small frame and waited, and waited.

It was almost an hour before she left the wardrobe, and it was only because she needed to use the chamber pot. Once that need was taken care of, she hesitantly moved back down the hallway as she listened attentively in case one of those men returned. She passed the wardrobe and paused in front of her father’s study. Annetta knew that Messere Giorgio had told her that her father would meet them later, but she wanted to go recover her mother’s jewelry case from the house safe when they returned looking for them. After all, there was no other reason for those banditi being there. Annetta didn’t care if they took everything, but she’d never let them have her mother’s jewels; the only thing she had left of her.

Upon entering the room, she went immediately to the safe without bothering to take note of her surroundings, pushing open the shudders so she could use the moon’s light to see. She pulled her necklace out from where it was hidden under her nightgown as the moonlight glinted off the surface of the key that dangled from it. Her father had told her that it was the last place they’d ever think to look for, and he’d been right. Those banditi hadn’t even thought to search her person as they’d ransacked her room earlier that night. However, she couldn't waste time here because soon they’d realize she wasn’t with Messere Giorgio.

Annetta was relieved to see the jewelry box and grabbed it before hugging it to her chest a moment. It wouldn’t be safe to stay here even if the man had told her to wait, and perhaps she could go to the man’s house. His family would surely hide her until the man came home, and there was a good amount of fiorini in the safe that she could give him so he could protect her until her father came for her. With that thought in mind, she stuffed the fiorini that could fit in the jewelry chest before closing it, and turned to leave. That’s when she saw her father.

They’d left his broken body on the floor and ripped his shirt from him so she could see the cuts and purple and yellow bruises littering his skin. His eyes, which were identical to hers, were still open and staring at Annetta who trembled a few feet away. “Papa?” she whimpered, tears running down her face as the box slipped out of her numb fingers. Then she was screaming before everything came crashing down on her already shaken mind, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as Annetta dropped in a dead faint.

This is how the four man patrol found her as they entered the study. “This must be the girl they’re looking for,” the leader stated the obvious. He wore the Captain’s armor and now removed the helmet as he crouched down to check if she was still alive. He grunted as he felt the air still leaving through her nostrils. “She’s still alive.” As he straightened he noticed the safe and hurried over to it, but deflated when he only saw a dozen fiorini that couldn’t be more than fifty. The man hadn’t noticed that Annetta had landed almost on top of the jewelry box so the skirts of her nightgown obscured it from view, and anything else of value had clearly already been taken.

Although, the other three were more interested in the girl, whom they deemed a worthy enough consolation prize, and they started to remove their weapons. The Captain did nothing to stop them as they started to argue on who would go first and ultimately deflower her. He wasn’t interested in fucking virgins or children, so he left the room in hopes that a more thorough search of the house would yield something of value.

However, as soon as he stepped into the now dark hallway, there was a blade at his throat as he stopped with his hand still on the door handle. “How many inside?” a voice hissed from the shadows. The Captain couldn’t see any other part of the assailant besides his arm and the hand that held the dagger. He could see that his hand was steady, and he’d heard that voice before; the voice of a killer. This man was not to be trifled with.

“There are four of us, and the other three are inside with the girl,” he whispered hastily. When the gloved hand tightened around the hilt of the weapon, he knew he’d said something the unseen man didn’t like.

“What girl?” he snarled angrily, and the Captain was surprised at the feeling of terror those whispered words had caused him.

He swallowed nervously and knew that lying wouldn’t get him anywhere, and a bit more pressure from the dagger at his throat had him spilling everything. “The crossbowman on the roof hailed us because he heard screaming inside what was supposed to be an empty house. We found the girl passed out on the floor, and my men took a liking to all that pale skin. A pretty little thing that’s thirteen or tw-gyuh!” The rest of his sentence was cut off as the dagger viciously stabbed him in the throat as blood poured down his front.

The other guards stopped their arguments as the heard the thud of the Captain’s corpse hitting the ground, and then they saw the blood flow into the room from under the door. All of them recovered their discarded weapons and left the unconscious girl untouched. They found no body, but there was a bloody trail that led down the hallway and around the corner that led to the stairs. The men were wary since they didn’t know who was waiting to ambush them, but they still charged down the hall to avenge their Captain.

The man at the back died first, dragged into a room he’d been passing as a hand clamped around his mouth to cut off his scream as a blade sunk into his back; twisted to severe his spinal cord. His murderer gently laid him down so his corpse wouldn’t make any noise, and moved to the door to listen to the other two men’s outraged cries as they noticed their comrade’s absence. It was easy after that to stalk the men within the dark house, since he had not only extinguished the torches but had also removed them so they wouldn’t relight them.

The man showed no mercy as he picked off the last two, and finally stood over the burly guard that had been arguing the most to be the one to deflower the girl. There was blood dribbling out the sides of his mouth as he stared up at him imploring mercy. He crouched down so he could look into the eyes of the dying man. “Were you going to offer that child mercy before or after you raped her?” he demanded. When the guard started sobbing the other stood as he made a disgusted sound, and quickly took the soldier’s discarded heavy sword and brought it swiftly down across his throat.

He dropped the weapon back besides the partially beheaded body and moved toward the study. As he entered he saw that the girl had woken, and she crawled across the floor toward her father’s corpse. He slowly moved toward her so he wouldn’t scare her, but she didn’t see anything besides her father. The man felt that he was seeing his own daughter, dead and gone so many years ago, and that protective instinct he’d thought had faded away came to the surface once more. His large, warm hand slipped over her eyes as he whispered into her ear. She whimpered and mumbled something as he lifted her up, and she curled into him like a child seeking comfort in the arms of her father.

Ciro wondered what he was getting himself into as he looked down into her pale, injured features relaxed in slumber. However, when he tried to put her down and she whimpered and clung to him, he found that he couldn’t leave her. He picked up a strange box hidden under her skirts, and then carried her out of the house. 

~o~

Giorgio winced as he finally made it back to the Abete house, clutching at his side as it throbbed painfully. As he’d been fleeing from the men, the cart had turned the corner and spotted the cart of hay he was rapidly approaching. He had made a desperate attempt to escape and jumped from the moving cart, but had only made it halfway in and landing on his side. Despite the pain he had experienced, Giorgio had hastily scrambled the rest of the way into the other cart. It was almost a split second after he’d disappeared from sight and the two men came around the corner. They didn’t even glance at the hay cart and continued the pursuit of the now driverless cart.

After they galloped past, Giorgio wasted no time and practically fell out of the cart in his haste to get out. He’d stolen a horse which he had quickly saddled, and once he climbed on he had ridden hard back to return as fast as possible to Annetta. Now he staggered up to the gate, exhausted and in a lot of pain from having landed on his side, and the hard ride in the cart and then the horse. So, even if he would have wanted to collapse, he knew he couldn’t waste time. This place wasn’t safe and he had to get Annetta out of there before they came back here looking for her.

Giorgio was cautious as he passed the gate, keeping to the shadows so the crossbowman on the roof wouldn’t see him. However, he soon realized that the guard wasn’t there, but rather that be relieved, Giorgio grew more anxious. He knew that something was wrong as he entered with a torch from outside, and quietly crept up the stairs to the third floor. The man’s face drained of color as he saw the trail of blood along with a bloody sword in front of the wardrobe. There wasn’t a single body anywhere, but he was certain someone had died right here not too long ago.

He approached the wardrobe with shaking hands, trying to avoid the blood and prayed that he wasn’t about the find the girl’s dead body. However, when he flung it open there was no sign of Annetta, and besides a rumpled blanket, there were no signs that she’d been dragged out. He searched the rest of the house for her, and purposefully left the study for last because he didn’t want to see what had become of his friend. Finally, he was standing in front of the study when the search hadn’t yielded anything, but he was still hesitant to enter. Giorgio braced himself and pushed open the door as he entered, and promptly stumbled back into the wall as he retched in disgust.

The bastardi had bludgeoned him to dead and left him lying on the floor, and the blood from his caved-in skull had spread around him in a puddle. There were also five other bodies in the corner of the room, and he identified the crossbowman within them as Giorgio could only stare in horrified fascination. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved of more worried when he noticed that Annetta was nowhere to be seen. Giorgio wondered if the Borgia’s men had taken her after finding her in that closet, or if she was simply dead.

“Messere Vitelli.” Giorgio was startled by the voice inside of the room he’d thought was empty except for the corpses, and he whirled around with his dagger in his hand. “Calmarsi, I am not your enemy,” the voice spoke again, his tone reminiscent of scolding a wayward child. Of what he could see of the man in the shadows, he was wearing dark clothing he couldn’t determine the color of in the dim room. However, the hood he wore was distinguishable, since it cast his eyes into complete darkness, so he could only make out his mouth; and just barely.

“W-who are you?” Giorgio demanded; silently cursing himself as his voice shook. He wondered on his possibility of escaping with his life, but even if he couldn’t see them he could see the other’s eyes boring into him. It unnerved Giorgio that he couldn’t tell whether he was looking at him or not, and something about him was making his legs shake. At times he had felt the same dangerous aura surrounding him whenever Alfonso had gotten angry when things weren’t going according to plan. 

“My identity is unimportant. The only thing you need to know is that I am an Assassin like Alfonso was. Now, I need the information you were coming here to give him. Where are those documents, Messere Vitelli? Do you presently have them with you?” Giorgio Vitelli was glad he didn’t have them with him, and had left them stashed away in that whore’s room in case Alfonso was still occupied. He had lifted a loose board up while the woman had still been sleeping, and tucked them into a small niche. Giorgio was no fool and knew he could get killed for that information.

He shook his head as he stepped back. “No, I do not,” he said firmly. Giorgio watched him apprehensively as the other stared at him so long that he wanted to squirm, but resolutely stayed still under the man’s scrutiny. After a moment, the hooded man seemed to come to a decision as he gave one sharp nod and stepped back into the shadows he’d emerged from. Giorgio watched that spot until his eyes watered, and only then he left the room. However, he never once dared to turn his back to where the man had been. Once he made it outside, he leaned against the side of the house while he took deep breaths, and the sweet, heady scent of the Violets overpowered his senses. 

Giorgio thought back to a conversation he had with Alfonso and the man had told him of the two other Assassins that knew his true identity. He had never given names or even descriptions, so Giorgio couldn’t trust that hood man because he didn’t know him. After all, he could be with Rodrigo Borgia, and if he gave him the information then Alfonso would have died in vain.

Also, this man that had claimed to be an Assassin hadn’t even asked about Annetta. Perhaps he assumed she was dead like her father that had lain dead at their feet the whole time they’d spoken. Although, regardless of the reason, it had been too cold a façade that he presented, and Giorgio remembered that last night he had heard men’s voices inside the house. He could only assume that it was the other two Assassins that knew his true identity, and that meant that _they_ could have betrayed him.

Giorgio looked up at the dark windows of the Abete house, whose owners had been murdered or gone missing, and a bitter cold wind blew past him in that moment. It howled and seemed to mourn for the broken family that nobody would grieve once morning came. The man turned away, and there was a pained expression on his face for a moment before it was gone. Although, he felt sorry for the girl and what her fate would be; he could do nothing, since he had no clue on where to start looking. She was as lost to him as her father now was.

So, without another thought, he took to the streets as dawn approached. Giorgio hadn’t been home in two days, but he wouldn’t return that day as well. Instead, he’d go to the bank and withdraw as much as he could carry of his fortune, and then take his family far away from Italia. He would leave those documents where they lay in the floor of the rundown brothel for now, and first get his wife and son to safety. When they were out of harm’s way he would return for them and expose Rodrigo Borgia.

However, Giorgio would soon learn that the chess pieces were already moving against him, and he would be in checkmate.

~o~

_1498_

It was difficult leaving again on the fourth day of the next week, but Annetta had already started to venture out on her own. At times, she didn’t return until the next morning, but she always made sure to inform Ciro when she did this so he wouldn’t worry. Now, she needed to think of an excuse that particular day, since they had an important heist tomorrow and she had to be back by nightfall. Annetta had promised that, but at times promises are forgotten in moments of pure bliss.

Vittorio was on her as soon as he came into the stables, since she had arrived first. She tried to say something, but he was having none of that as he silenced her with his own mouth. Annetta wanted to ask him of this Mario Petaccia and who he was to Ciro, and she wanted to know more about this organization he represented, but most of all she wanted to know everything about him. However, he was making it difficult for her to speak, soon it was hard to form a single thought, and finally she simply abandoned all rational thought.

His hands were urgent, his mouth incessant, and she was helpless in the face of so much passion. The first time was over much too soon for either of them, and as they lay panting on the hay afterwards, Annetta wondered if she should try speaking now. However, before she could decide on what to ask, Vittorio rolled toward her and they were lost within another passionate copulation. The second time was slow and languid, and at times Annetta thought she would lose her mind at the unhurried pace in which he teased and touched her. She came close to climax several times before he pulled away, and by the time he finally brought her to orgasm, she was full out sobbing from the pleasure.

Annetta drifted off into a placated slumber in Vittorio’s arms as she smiled at how happy she was in his embrace. She dreamed of what the future may hold for the both of them and this relationship they had. It was a nice dream that ended as the crash of thunder sounded outside, and Annetta was startled awake. She was confused at first because she was cold, and she was alone.

“Piero?” she called uncertainly. Another clap of thunder made her jump and she covered her ears as she stood and moved toward the window. Although it was still dark outside, she could tell that dawn was quickly approaching. Annetta suddenly remembered that she had to have been back at the safe-house by morning. The young woman scrambled around as she tried to find her clothes and hastily pulled them on. “Cazzo! Cazzo!” She didn’t know how she could have been so stupid as to fall asleep, and the nerve of that man! He’d probably been gone since last night, and left her naked and alone in those damned stables.

Annetta ran out and headed toward the safe-house despite the heavily pouring rain. By the time she made it back she was soaked to the bone, and they were too late to catch the courier that Ciro had informed her was carrying several thousand fiorini. The man was waiting for her when she trudged in, arms crossed over his chest as he waited for an explanation. “I’m so sorry-”

“Silenzio!” he snapped angrily, and she was cowed into silence as she continued to drip rainwater onto the floor. “I don’t want to hear useless apologizes! I want to know where you’ve been!” Annetta averted her gaze from his, and couldn’t bring herself to say it. That she had been rolling around in the hay like some whore with a man she barely knew, while their chance to steal a small fortune got away. It wasn’t even about the money, since they could easily go steal one of the wealthy houses in Centro. That had been blood money that had been robbed from families such as Annetta’s had been. They were going to take that money and give it back to the poor, starving people of Roma.

Ciro’s lips thinned into a bloodless line at her silence. “Bene,” he said coldly. He turned away from her and started to get their gear together, which they used when Ciro trained her. Annetta knew she was in for a long day of training, but still she remained mute. It wasn’t done to make him angry, but because Annetta was ashamed to admit where she’d been. That despite the consequences today, she would return there again next week.

Annetta held her silence through the long day of hard training he made her do as punishment, and knew she deserved. As she lay in bed later that night, her body ached and her hands were littered with cuts from her failed attempts at learning to catch a throwing knife barehanded. She had seen Ciro falter in his relentless training at the first sign of blood, but Annetta wouldn’t let him go easy on her. The young woman felt she deserved this punishment, and worked until she could barely make it to bed before finally collapsing.

However, despite her exhaustion, her mind refused to shut down as it wandered back to last night. She was helpless to relive it over and over again until she started aching with need instead. Annetta had never been into masturbation before, and had always been told growing up that it was wrong and dirty; a sin. As her hand drifted down her stomach and between her thighs, the first touch sent a jolt of pleasure that felt neither wrong nor dirty.

She withered under the covers like a cat in heat, and pretty soon she had to kick them off since she was getting hot. It was all she could do to keep quiet as she panted in the dark, and when her orgasm washed over her, Annetta’s whole body shuddered. The walls of her passage clenched around the slender fingers, and she was left soaked in sweat as she tried to catch her breath while her heart beat almost too loud in her ears.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention as they moved steadily toward her room at the end of the hallway. “Cazzo!” she hissed quietly, yanking the covers back over her semi-naked body. Annetta rolled onto her side so her back was to the door when it opened moments later. Ciro stood in the doorway as she feigned sleep, and he took so long that it was hard to stay still. By the time he left Annetta really had fallen asleep, and she dreamed she was in a field surrounded by hundreds of beautiful wild flowers.

~o~

Annetta arrived early the fourth night of next week, and in her arms were several items that she could barely carry. She had stolen a few cups, a basin and a water pitcher which she now placed on a make-shift table. After finding an old shovel, she dug out a hole that she lined with some flat stones, and then she left to gather firewood. By the time Vittorio arrived later that night, there was a fire going with a pot of stew that was attached to a chain secured from a rafter overhead.

Vittorio appeared too stunned to say anything as he looked around, and a frown twisted his features as he spotted the mattress in the corner. She had snuck into a Sarto shop and stole some cloth and used it to sew together a simple sack, which she then filled with some straw she’d gotten from a farm she’d been passing while on her way to the stables. Annetta could only get a sheet from her own bed, or Ciro would suspect of her if her blankets suddenly disappeared. So, now the stables looked more like someone could live there. Although, Vittorio looked upset about the whole thing as he looked around, and she spoke up before he could.

“You may like lying on that itchy hay, but I don’t care for it.” She pulled open her shirt enough so he could see her cleavage, but still leaving her nipples hidden. When his eyes immediately went to her exposed flesh, she could barely keep the smirk off her face. “You wouldn’t want my delicate skin to get scratched, would you, Piero?” The sultry voice had a devastating effect on him as he shuddered before striding toward her. As Vittorio practically tore her shirt off, Annetta figured they’d eat later; provided the stew didn’t burn.

As both lay breathing hard on the mattress, her heart skipped a beat when he rolled over to drape an arm over her waist as he spoke. “It’s a bit chilly in here. I’ll bring some blankets next week.” Annetta grunted softly as she snuggled closer to Vittorio’s warmth. The man had worn his mask the first time they had sex, and this time he had blindfolded her so he could remove it. Although Annetta hated the handicap of not being able to see, the feel of his mouth kissing and his tongue licking every part of her body had been worth it. Now, as she felt his breathing even out, she slowly reached up to pull down the blindfold, but gasped as a hand seized her wrist in an iron hold. “Don’t do that,” he breathed into her ear as she shivered.

“I-I’m sorry,” she hastened to apologize, trying to pull her hand back. She felt his hot breath on her fingers as he turned his head, and then kissed her calloused fingertips. Annetta knew she didn’t have a lady’s soft hands anymore, but she didn’t care. As Vittorio’s lips whispered over them, it was apparent he didn’t either. Annetta figured he wouldn’t care about such things, since he was obviously from the streets.

Annetta had to eat with her eyes covered so he could consume his food without having to rush. The stew was only slightly over-cooked, but other than that it was good. She only removed the blindfold after Vittorio had told her she could. When she was finally able to see, she noticed that he had almost finished dressing and he’d cleaned out the pot and the bowls. The young woman quickly pulled on her own clothes, and Vittorio was getting ready to leave while she still had to pin up her hair. However, before she could, Annetta felt Vittorio press against her back as his hand brought a clump of her hair to his exposed face. Annetta didn’t try to turn her face to get a look at his face, and just listened to him deeply inhale the scent of her hair. Then he pulled away as his own scent of sandalwood, metal grease, and a heady musk he gave out faded, and she was left feeling cold. She turned at last, but he was already gone. After kicking dirt onto the dying embers, Annetta pinned up her hair before putting on her hat, and then left the stables.

Next week Annetta arrived at the stables with anticipation singing in her veins, but when she entered she found two blankets folded neatly on the mattress along with a note.

_‘Annetta,_  
Mi dispiace, bella, but I will be occupied with a prior engagement. I shall see you next week. Ciao, cuore dolce.  
-Piero.’ 

Annetta stood there staring at the note for several seconds in silence. She sighed deeply several times while the interior of the stables was slowly bathed in the red-orange glow of sunset. Annetta left the blankets where Vittorio had put them, and threw the note into the fire as she watched it blacken and then turn into ashes. She wanted to leave the fire going and perhaps let the whole place burn to the ground, but she couldn’t do that. Vittorio would most likely return next week and if the stables burned down, there would be nowhere to come back to. So, Annetta made sure to shove enough dirt to extinguish the flame.

She exited into the chilly morning air as she shivered, and the food she had brought was handed to some street urchin. Annetta arrived at the safe-house almost an hour later because she had walked slowly, and by that time the sun had completely set. Ciro glanced at her as she entered with a raised eyebrow, but other than that he didn’t comment on her early arrival. 

~o~

_1499_

Annetta knew she shouldn’t have ever said anything despite what she felt about it. His name was Vittorio as she had learned purely by chance, and which she had faked not having learned. She would lie in bed at night and whisper the name to the darkness, and would remember his eyes and recall the softness of his lips. His calloused hands were big and warm, and despite everything he didn’t say, they made her feel safe. He had a light smattering of freckles along his back, and at one point she had traced from one to another with her tongue. Annetta had also noticed that his dark brown hair was curly but he always kept it short as if he were embarrassed by the curls. She loved everything about him, and so the fact that she had never seen his face actually caused her anguish.

It had taken four months to convince him, and she had finally seen his face for the first time. Annetta had always known that his featured were scarred, so she wasn’t shocked by the scar that started just below his left eye, cut across his the edge of his lips, and his chin to finally end at his right jaw. Annetta had merely smiled up into his wary features and got on her tip toes to kiss those scarred lips.

Vittorio had visibly relaxed after the reveal and despite never calling themselves a couple, or anything vaguely resembling an attachment; things were good. Annetta was happy. Then one afternoon he had arrived before her, and he’d been brooding with his mask on. She should have realized that he was in one of his unapproachable moods, but had thought they were close enough that she didn’t have to walk on eyeshells around him.

“You can hide it from the entire world, but never from me. I love your face,” Annetta had said with a grin and reached out to pull the mask down. His hand had shot out to catch hers as Annetta had winced as the fingers dug in hard enough to bruise the skin. “Piero, you’re hurting me.”

Vittorio released her hand at once and stood right after. “I have to leave,” he said suddenly. Annetta was stunned by his sudden declaration and opened her mouth to protest. “There’s a previous engagement I forgot about.” He was lying and they both knew he was, but as he moved toward the door Annetta couldn’t work up the nerve to oppose his actions.

In the end, she was left alone in the stables with the basket of food forgotten on the crate that acted as a make-shift table. She took in deep breaths in an attempt to calm down or she’d embarrass herself by breaking down. Annetta wouldn’t give him that last bit of her dignity, and he had already taken enough of her; she’d freely given it to him. So, she reigned in the whirlwind of her emotions, and when she calmed down enough, she grabbed the basket and left the stables.

When next week came he was much more agreeable as she smiled at him and allowed him to touch her once more, but inside she felt cold. She arched into his hands and moaned as they joined as one, but her mind wasn’t there anymore. As the days passed she pulled away a little bit more in an attempt to safeguard her heart for the inevitable day. Then one day Ciro ran with her after a scare from a man in white robes and they went to another safe-house further away, and Annetta decided that the inevitable day had finally arrived.

~o~

_February, 1500_

Annetta stretched her arms over her head and she yawned so wide her jaw cracked, and she winced with a chuckle before rubbing at her face. She reached into the sack sitting on the bench beside her to extract an apple, which she took a bite of with a loud crunch. A bit of juice spilled out the side of her mouth and she used her sleeve to wipe it away. To anyone watching her right now, she seemed like a young adolescent boy sitting on the bench enjoying breakfast, and she had strived to acquire the manners of one to avoid looking suspicious. After all, if she ate like a dainty woman, then that’s what they would think she was, and thus acted as a man as far as her pride allowed her.

It was almost dawn, since she could see as the sky started to lighten, and as the sun finally crested the horizon the first pink flower petals descended upon the piazza. She tilted her head back as far as it could go and her lips lifted in a serene smile. Annetta had been hesitant to return here after they had fled from their other safe-house like the hounds of hell were on their heels. If she were to judge by the wide-eyed look on his face as he’d been fleeing from the white-robed man, then it may very well have been hellhounds. To this day; several months later, she still didn’t know what had prompted him to flee, and what it had to do with the man in the white robes. Annetta was sure it had something to do with him, but she didn’t know enough of Ciro’s past before she came to live with him.

Annetta grabbed the bag so she could go soon, since the flower petals had stopped coming now and she wondered about the person that released them on the wind. The young woman didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, and in all these years she hadn’t tried to find out either. It had felt like she would be cheated out of something if she were to find out where they came from, and what the purpose for them were. Annetta just wanted to enjoy the sight of them, since it only happened once a week.

As she stood, a commotion on the other side of the piazza startled her and saw a group of guards surrounding a person. From where she currently was at the moment, she couldn’t make out much of this individual. She stepped back as the fight progressed closer to where she was standing, and she was amazed as this person thinned out the guards one by one. Finally, it was only two more guards left and although she still couldn’t make out their features, Annetta realized that it was a man...in white robes.

Annetta’s blood ran cold at realizing that it was the same man that had run Ciro down on horseback. Now, here she was without the thief and she had no idea if she should run, or if that would give away her presence. Although, the decision was taken out of her hand as the incident came in her direction and she darted away like a scared rabbit. She was up on the roofs before the man killed the last two guards, and she crouched on the rooftop as she looked over the edge. When the hooded man had disappeared from sight leaving nothing but corpses in his wake, Annetta straightened and moved across the rooftops so she could get back to the safe-house.

She was almost around to the other side of the piazza when she came to a blood soaked basket. Annetta’s head tilted curiously as she slowly approached, wary of who could have done this, and reached down to turn over the basket. As she lifted it, Annetta’s eyes widened in shock as the few bloody flower petals fluttered out of the basket on the ground at her feet. A dozen things went through her mind at the sight of those pink petals splattered in crimson. However, there was nothing she could do at the moment though, and she would just have to come back next week to confirm her fears.

~o~

Annetta was anxious as she sat on the bench eight days later, her leg bouncing up and down in nervousness as her eyes were fixed on the sky. It was still pretty dark and that night it was colder than most days, but she wouldn’t move from that place until she knew. So, her complete attention was on the heavens and she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings.

As the first rays of morning appeared over the horizon, there were no petals to christen the day. Annetta realized that once more they’d taken something from her, and while to some it might seem insignificant; to her it was something that kept her going.

She was so engrossed in this small tragedy that she didn’t notice anything until a blow to the back of her head knocked her out. Annetta knew no more.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> capito - understand  
> silenzio - quiet


	21. Ad Infinitum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to use Russian in some sentences that are said in the language, but the translations are a bit skewered. So, forgive me for any mistakes. I used a translator and this is what it gave me. Please let me know if I made a mistake. This chapter came out of a dark part that ReZ likes to retreat to and make picnics in. It could have been even darker, but I was afraid if I unleashed it. Onward with the chapter!

**Chapter Twenty-one:** _Ad Infinitum_

_May 12, 1500_

The young woman inhaled sharply as her eyes snapped open and noticed that it was pitch black. However, up above she saw a small patch with millions of stars. She soon saw that it was a hole in the ceiling that would be too high for her too reach, and too small to squeeze through either way. Annetta gasped as she sat up and immediately regretted it as her head pounded, and she felt nauseous and dizzy. Once the urge to vomit had passed with no incident, she went over the events that had gotten her into this mess.

She’d been in the Piazza della Rotunda for the petals that had never fallen, and as she’d been mourning that small loss she had been attacked. It had been dawn and hardly anyone had been out in the plaza at that time, since there weren’t any shop stands in that particular place for someone to be there that early. So, that meant nobody would have seen the figlio di puttanas that carried her off, and no leads for when Ciro came looking for her when she didn’t return. Also, it would be well into late morning by the time the thief realized that she’d been taken, since she didn’t get there until almost that time every week.

The more she thought about it, the more she thought that it was all so convenient, since someone had known she would be there. As she’d been distracted by her thoughts, they had struck. The only thing she needed to do was figure out what they wanted. Annetta knew that it was unlikely that it had anything to do with her father, since the man had died seven years ago. Also, she didn’t go by Annetta Abete on the streets, since Annetta was as good as dead. In essence she had completely become Yeoman; a street urchin with a mean right hook, and that was dangerous with throwing knives and a dagger.

So, she was unsure of the reason she had been ambushed in the piazza. At this late hour she wouldn’t get any answers, or at least she thought it was late since she had no concept of how much time had passed. Until they came to interrogate her, Annetta would remain in the dark, and all she could do was wait for morning.

Annetta closed her eyes and she slept.

~o~

The door slamming open woke her and a few moments later she was grabbed and dragged to her feet. Annetta acted on pure instinct as she broke the hold and elbowed the one manhandling her in the face. She heard the snap of his nose breaking and then a howl of pain before another guard slammed a blunt object to the back of her head, and the young woman crumpled.

Annetta came to a few moments later as she was being dragged down the hallway, but she feigned being unconscious as she tried to figure out where she was being taken. She noticed that she was within easy reach of one of the guards’ daggers, however, she would bide her time until she knew where she was before attacking them. In the mean time she slyly relieved the guard of his dagger and managed to hide it within her sleeve.

When she’d awoken last night, she had noticed that they’d taken all her possessions, including the dagger she had hidden in her boot. So, she was weaponless besides that stiletto blade she’d stolen off the guard. It wasn’t even that sharp, and Annetta hoped she wasn’t tied up with her hands apart from one another. Although, knowing her luck, she’d be tied up spread eagle.

Annetta realized she was being taken out of the room and that it was almost morning, but she had already guessed that by the sky lightening through the barred window. It was some kind of compound and there were walls surrounding this place, but they were in need of repair. This place looked familiar, and as the sun rose higher into the sky she realized she was in the Terme di Traiano. She had taken refuge here enough times hiding from the guards that she’d have a hard time mistaking it for another place.

Her eyes were half-lidded so she could see where she was being taken, but the rising sun shone right into her eyes as she was brought into the open. Her eyes slammed shut of their own accord, and she must have flinched because they realized she was awake.

“Don’t try anything stupid, ragazzo,” the one on the right warned. It was the one whose nose she hadn’t broken, and they still clearly thought she was male, which was a small relief while it lasted. This meant they wouldn’t try to rape her yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time until that happened and hoped Ciro found her before she was defiled by these bastardi.

Annetta had lost her hat somewhere in the time she’d been knocked out and waking up in the make-shift cell. Also, she hadn’t tried to escape before because she had no idea where she was. Now she knew the location, and she was going to try something stupid.

The female thief let the stiletto blade slide into her hand as she caught the handle before it could fall out of reach. They noticed the weapon too late as she managed to slice into the hand of the guard on her right, and when he let her go she drove the weapon up to the hilt into the other guards’ thigh. His scream of pain was almost the same as when she’d broken his nose, but she felt no satisfaction as she yanked the blade out in a spray of blood.

Annetta ran from them, up the stairs and then scaling the nearest wall with nimble movements, and on top of the wall she paused for a moment to take in the nearby threats. There was a patrol that had been making its rounds that were alerted of her escape, and were now making their way to her location. Her eyes flashed to the east where a shadow blocked the light of the rising sun, and saw it was a crossbowman that was even now taking aim in her direction. There were two more that weren’t within range at the moment, but the first one she had noticed was and she flipped away from the crossbow bolt.

She only had the dagger as her sole weapon, so she knew she had to keep away from them. Annetta was very skilled with a short ranged weapon, but there were simply too many for her to take on alone. Then she had to avoid stopping for too long or the crossbowman would get her within his sights, and one careless moment would be all it took.

The young woman jumped onto a nearby broken column that was flat enough to stand on, and then the next that was lower until she was finally close enough to the ground that the fall wouldn’t hurt her. She dashed across the grounds between two short walls that she ducked under to avoid another projectile, then under the shade of a tree growing there, and her aim was the stairs leading down to the path. However, she found that way blocked by two brutes, and was forced to stop her momentum. When she tried to turn around it was to see that she was suddenly surrounded by the patrol that she’d been trying to keep away from.

Of course Annetta fought against them, because they wanted to take her alive, and she knew there were worse things than death. In the end, she was disarmed as the stiletto flew too far away for her to try to recover, and one of them managed to pin her to the wall with a forearm to her throat. Annetta’s feet were clear off the ground as the man measuring six feet held her in place like she weighed nothing, and to him she probably _didn’t_ weigh anything.

And the world soon faded away around her.

~o~

_May 14, 1500_

Annetta cried out as she felt freezing cold water dumped on her head, and it soaked into her clothes quickly. She sputtered as some got into her mouth and spit it out, and she lifted her head to look around the room. It was mid-afternoon at least because there was still a little sunlight coming into the room she was in, and she was chained to a stone table. Annetta’s arms and legs were completely immobile, but at least she was alone in the room.

She lifted her head and to where the small amount of sunlight was coming from, and saw the hole in the ceiling where the bucket of water that had been dumped on her head. The person that had thrown the water on her was gone, so it was obvious she had been woken for a reason. It meant that she wouldn’t be alone for long, and wanted to make sure she’d worked on a way to get free. So, she started to try and test if the metal cuffs were rusted or if several pulls could unhinge them from the stone table.

This is what she was doing, yanking as much as she could until the pain in her wrist became unbearable and was forced to stop. However, the sound of footsteps stopped her attempts and listened attentively to determine whether someone was simply passing by, or coming to her cell. This wasn’t the baths anymore, and it was most likely that she was in the tower close by.

Her heart started to pound a bit louder when the heavy cell door opened and a man stepped inside. He wasn’t an attractive man, or an ugly man. In fact, he was rather plain with a slightly crooked nose as if it had been broken before, and it made her think of the soldier whose nose she had broken early that morning. Perhaps it had been yesterday morning, because she wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she’d been unconscious.

“Let’s see if things can go smoothly for once,” were the first words out of his mouth. He clasped his hands behind his back as he started to circle her. “I’ll ask you a question, and if you give me the truth I won’t hurt you.”

Annetta’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, but didn’t shake or nod her head. In fact, she didn’t say anything and only stared at him. “Bene,” he muttered with a nod of his head. He stopped just in front of her as he leaned forward until his face was inches from her. “Tell me where I can find Il Solitario Assassino.”

The question confused her, since she had no idea who he was referring to. As if he read her thoughts, he clicked in tongue against the roof of his mouth in annoyance. “Don’t feign ignorance with me, via ratto,” he snapped. He still hadn’t reached out to touch her but she’d seen it in his eyes. If she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, then he _would_ hurt her. But she really didn’t know whom he was referring to.

“Let’s start small, shall we?” he whispered. His hands moved from around his back and they snapped forward. His cruel fingers grabbed hold of her hair, and only now realized that the pins had all come out and it flowed in wavy strands to her shoulders. His other hand pulled a dagger from a sheath at his waist, and Annetta closed her eyes in anticipation of the pain. However, it never came as the knife sliced through the air and her hair came away from her skull.

Her eyes snapped open when she realized he was cutting her hair. “No!” she finally spoke, trying to pull away as he grabbed more of her hair and mercilessly cut it all off.

“Finally the piccolo ratto speaks,” he taunted, but he didn’t stop until he’d cut the last strand. Annetta watched wide eyed as it fluttered down and out of sight, and remembered all the times Vittorio had lovingly carded his fingers through that same hair that now lay on the filthy ground somewhere out of sight. A small sob almost escaped her mouth but she bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. It would be a truly foolish thing to show this man any weakness that he could use against her. “Did that hurt you, bambino?” he purred, leaning so close to her that he was close enough to touch.

Annetta blinked back the tears and adopted a detached expression and reigned in all her emotions. She realized that this man could read everything she was feeling as clear as day on her face and in her eyes. So, she made herself like a blank slate as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “It’ll take more than that to hurt me, stronzo,” she spat. And because he had dared to get close enough, she lifted her knee as much as she could to drive it into his groin. He grunted as he staggered back while clutching himself, cursing rapidly in another language. That’s when Annetta realized that he wasn’t Italian, and that was the reason his Italian sounded strange. She couldn’t be too sure since she’d never heard it, but it sounded Russian. He was at least in his forties, so if he was Russian that would explain his presence in Italia, since there was much warfare and fighting in the country at the moment.

He was upon her before she could blink, and the dagger he’d used to cut her hair was now at her neck. Annetta knew he wouldn’t kill her due to any information she may have, but that didn’t keep her from feeling nervous with such a sharp object against her vulnerable throat. “A truly foolish thing,” he whispered as he leaned forward and inhaled deeply, and for a crazed moment Annetta wondered if he could smell the fear on her.

Then he chuckled as he pulled back and patted her cheek hard enough to make her wince before he turned around. He walked out of the cell and left her chained to the stone table.

~o~

_May 15, 1500_

Annetta squinted against the light flooding through the cell door as it was opened, and by her guess it was very early morning. The same man as before appeared in the doorway, but he had changed clothes. He had obviously bathed quite recently and had doused himself with some kind of sweet perfume. It was the opposite of how she was right now, since she was dirty, sweaty, and filthy. They hadn’t even released her when she had to use the chamber pot.

The bastard had the gall to wrinkle his nose at the smell, but before she could open her mouth to damn him to hell, he gave a signal with his hand. Annetta shrieked as freezing water was dumped on her from the same opening as yesterday, which had been closed before now. “There now, that’s better,” he said as he came closer. However, before he’d taken more than two steps before he stopped in his tracks. “No, I was wrong. Do it again.”

Annetta cried out as she was doused once more with equally cold water. “Basta!” she yelled before they dumped more water on her. However, he seemed to be satisfied with her smell by that point, and she glared at him as she shivered, since it was cold most mornings. Although winter had already gone, spring was in full bloom and the fields in Campagna district were filled with flowers of all kinds. If she concentrated and closed her eyes then she could smell the heady scents of them wafting lightly in through the hole in the ceiling.

She was snapped out of her memories of past days spent lying in those fields of flowers as the man’s riding crop burned a painful strip across her temple. Annetta grit her teeth to keep from yelping, and turned a glare on the torturer. “Perhaps you should pay attention to what’s happening to you here.”

If she weren’t strapped to this table, then she was sure the situation would be a different one. She was itching for when Ciro came for her and she was allowed to be free to teach him a lesson. Although Annetta wasn’t like the torturer, and wouldn’t make a person suffer just because she enjoyed it. She hadn’t even killed someone before, and didn’t think she had the stomach for it.

Annetta spat at his feet in defiance, and the man looked at where the spittle had landed then back up to her. He turned and walked back to where he’d laid his gloves after removing them, and walked back over as he put them on. The man crouched down and scooped the clump of dirt where the spit had landed and moved toward her. Annetta’s eyes widened and clamped her lips together firmly, but his free hand grabbed her by the face and his gloved fingers digging painfully into her jaw. She tried to keep her mouth closed but when she felt the bones groan from the strain, Annetta finally gave into him lest he break her jaw.

He shoved that clump of dirt turned slightly muddy by her own spit into her mouth, and she felt revulsion roll her stomach and heaved. However, he was having none of that as he clamped his large hand over her mouth. Annetta felt bile in her mouth and when he pinched her nose, she was forced to swallow it down along with the muddy spit. When he released her she took in a deep breath before going into a coughing fit at the acidic taste of the bile as it had gone down her throat.

“Bastardo!” she screamed at him, her voice hoarse since her throat felt raw. She flinched back as he lashed out with the crop across her mouth, and she tasted blood and knew he’d split open one of her lips. Annetta didn’t dare spit at him again in case he shoved it back into her mouth, so she settled with just glowering at him.

“Let’s try a different approach, shall we?” he said cheerfully, amused as her lips pulled back in a snarl at him. “What’s your name?”

It was obvious they already knew who she was, but she wasn’t sure by which name that was. So, she went with the safer one, and the name they most likely knew her by. “Yeoman.” The whip snapped across her cheek. “Cazzo!”

“I said your name, via ratto, not your street name!” he snapped. When she remained quiet, the whip hit her across the other cheek as she hissed in pain, but otherwise made no effort to answer his question. “Well, I’m going to have to get serious with you.” He made a ‘tut-tut’ sound as if he were somehow disappointed in her, but she was interested in what he was doing instead of what he was saying. The man unraveled the bundle that had been sitting there in the corner on a stool ever since the first day she had woken up in this prison cell. Now her eyes bulged a bit as she saw knives of several different shapes and sizes revealed, along with two knife-like objects attached together that made them appear almost like scissors but they were several times bigger.

The man lifted up the scissor contraption and Annetta’s heart sped up in anticipation “Well, maybe not yet. I’ll save the best for last. These are good for castration, and they’re so sharp that one good cut is all it’ll take. It’s the bleeding out that will be tricky, but I’m sure I can stop it before you die. Maybe.” He put them down and instead picked up a knife with a wickedly curved tip and turned to face her. “This beauty allows me to cut neat little pieces into the flesh more easily than with a regular knife, and they’ll come off easier too. It’s all in the grip.”

Annetta clenched her teeth in anticipation, waiting for the pain that was sure to come and wondering how long she would be able to hang on. She hoped Ciro found her soon before she broke and told him everything she knew and didn’t know.

When he started to tear her shirt up the middle, she panicked and bucked against the restraints to try and get loose. However, she found that her struggles were in vain as the bandages pressing her breasts flat came into sight, and he paused for a moment. “Were you already injured?” he inquired curiously, not sure what to make of it. He lifted one end of the bandages and used the knife to start cutting at them. Annetta closed her eyes and waited for him to discover her closely guarded secret for so many years.

As the bandages fell away, his hands stilled as he inhaled sharply in surprise. It was so quiet she could have heard a pin drop, and then he gave a small chuckle that soon turned into full blown, slightly crazed laughter. “Well, you certainly shocked me, _madonna_!”

He roughly grabbed her face with his hands, fingers digging painfully and whimpered as she felt her jaw crack from the strength in the long digits. “This changes things, Мало Воробья,” he whispered. She didn’t understand what he had called her, and without actually knowing it, she felt like the little sparrow he named her. Like a small, trembling sparrow trapped underneath the paw of a hungry wolf.

~o~

_May 25, 1500_

Annetta struggled against the iron shackles that kept her imprisoned to the stone table that was the bane of her existence. It had been ten days since that monstro had discovered her gender, and they had been the worst of her life. He had ripped the rest of her clothing off of her and left her naked night and day. The lack of clothes was a relief during the days when it got stifling hot, but the nights and mornings were cold enough to have her teeth clattering.

They had bathed her like clockwork in the mornings from the opening in the ceiling and it was so cold that her nipples were rock hard and they ached. It would have been a God-send if they had bathed her in the afternoon during which time the heat was almost unbearable. However, all those thoughts didn’t matter at the moment as she bucked against the large body of the militia man, and shuddered in disgust as his calloused fingers ran along her clammy skin.

Her eyes widened as that hand moved between her thighs, and she savagely bit the hand clamped over her mouth. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands, figlio di puttana!” she snarled. The guard cursed as he pulled his hand to his chest and assessed the damage. When he was sure it wasn’t anything, he struck her and her head snapped back from the force of his slap, and a second hit had her tasting blood.

He was upon her while she was dazed from his abuse and felt disgust as his hands once more went for her most intimate of places. Annetta knew this had been inevitable eventually, and as she saw his form in the doorway of her cell she had known that today was finally the day. However, that didn’t mean she’d be compliant about the whole thing, and when he moved his face closer she inhaled and spat bloodied saliva into his face. He wiped his eyes and mouth angrily, and then he wrapped those big hands around her slender throat.

Annetta gasped as her eyes bulged, trying to desperately get him off her, but she couldn’t move him as his hands slowly crushed her trachea. Her vision was starting to darken as she bucked against the shackles to no avail. When she was sure the darkness of death would swallow her whole, he was suddenly gone, and she sucked in a greedy lungful of air followed by several others. It still felt like a pressure was on her throat and struggled to take in oxygen, but once she had managed to calm sufficiently, she lifted her head.

Her attacker was getting the tar kicked out of him by another, older man and by the helmet he was wearing with his militia uniform, she identified him as the leader. From her experience with several types of guards and running away from them, these regular guards were the ones that were drawn from the local populace. In her past altercations with the guards, she had no problem defeating them, since they were mostly sword-fodder that fell into the lower ranks of the militia. Even the leaders with their protective helmets weren’t that hard to defeat.

It was obvious that it wasn’t a large group guarding her, since it was always the same two guards at the door of her cell. They fed her twice a day, in the morning and after sunset, and it was always the same two men that brought her the food. At the moment she could tell that it was most likely noon due to the sunlight pouring through the opening above her head. Also, it was the time that the guards were scarce, since most of them went to their homes to eat lunch and never mind that they weren’t allowed to leave in the middle of their shift.

This was the reason that beast of a man had tried to rape her then, since there wouldn’t be anyone to say anything to him. However, Annetta doubted they would say anything to him even if they’d all been in their posts and others might even join in. So, she was shocked that this man was stopping him.

The older man gave him a kick in the ass so he stumbled out of the cell. “Nobody is allowed to touch Messere Havloh’s prisoner!” he snapped angrily. “Change places with Francesco! And don’t let me catch you near the prison cells again!”

The door slammed shut after the lower ranked militia man, and when the footsteps had retreated away the leader turned back to Annetta. When he stepped toward her she flinched and he immediately stilled. “Calmarsi, ragazza. I’m not going to hurt you.” She gave him an incredulous look and he sighed and ran a hand across his hair that was cut very close to his scalp. “I guess it’s a hard truth to believe while being in a place such as this.”

He spied the over turned bowl of mush they gave the prisoners as food; porridge in the morning and a clumpy soup in the evening. It was obvious she hadn’t been given her breakfast and it was still many hours until sunset. He picked up the bowl and at that moment the girl’s stomach grumbled loudly, and he turned to see her eyeing the wasted food longingly. The man was sure that if he offered the dirty mush to her than she was likely to eat it; she was that hungry.

His hand clenched into a fist at his side as he left the cell, closing and locking the door before moving down the hallway. Francesco hadn’t come to take the other’s place yet, but figured that a few minutes without a guard wouldn’t matter. When he returned ten minutes later, the guard still hadn’t returned. It would still be awhile before he turned up, since he had most likely gone home like most of the others. They weren’t allowed to leave but he permitted it to give the prisoners a reprieve from their cruelty. Usually, he wouldn’t interrupt when they raped the female prisoners, but he couldn’t help himself this time around.

Her eyes immediately snapped toward the door as it opened to admit him as she watched him fearfully. As he closed the door behind him he wondered naught for the first time what he was doing as he clutched the sack with food in one hand. He looked at her, small in size and those large eyes that silently begged for mercy, and he knew then why he couldn’t hold himself back from interfering. She reminded him of his own daughter who had just turned fifteen this past winter. This girl looked to be the same age and with her badly cut short hair, she appeared even younger. He imagined his own daughter in the same situation and the thought horrified him.

The terrible image was banished from his mind as he moved forward as she cringed back, but there was nowhere for her to go. He said nothing and merely unlatched the manacles that kept her arms imprisoned to the stone. She slowly sat up as she watched him warily, and he couldn’t blame her. Instead of trying to reassure her, he simply offered the piece bread and cheese from the sack. Her hands snatched the food out of his hold as if she were afraid he would change his mind, and ate with the fast, desperate movements of someone that knew what starvation felt like. When she had finished inhaling the food, he handed her the water skin and she greedily guzzled it down. He wondered when they’d last given her water.

“Don’t drink so fast or you’ll throw up,” he chastised. The girl stopped and stared at him for so long that he thought he may have said something wrong. She then looked at the water skin before her face lowered and she used an arm to cover her small breasts. He realized what she was thinking would happen for having accepted his charity. “I’m not after that,” he reassured her, but he doubted she believed him.

As he reached for the water skin she cowered back and he hesitated a moment before taking the water from her. “Mi dispiace, but I have to restrain you once more.” He set the water aside after assuring he’d closed it tightly and grabbed one of her wrists. She fought him as he gently pushed her back down, making small whimpers and helpless cries that made his heart heavy. He wasn’t rough with her but was firm as he snapped one manacle and then the other in place. She was left panting from the struggle as her bossom heaved, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks as her strange black eyes watched him closely. The man realized she was waiting for him to rape her now.

He shook his head with a world weary sigh and opened his mouth to speak, but it snapped shut as he heard a door slam down the hallway. It wasn’t necessary to look to know that Francesco had finally arrived. The man quickly cleaned up any remnants of food leftover on her despite her protests, and tucked the empty sack under his shirt. He attached the water skin to his belt and left the cell without looking back at her again.

After he’d gone and she could hear the other guards’ ribald laughter about why the leader had been in the prison cell, did the young woman realize something. The man’s eyes had never once strayed from her face.

An escape plan started to formulate within her mind, and for the first time in two weeks, her mouth lifted into a small smile.

~o~

_August 10, 1500_

It was at the height of summer and almost three and a half months of torture that she finally got the man under her thumb. He stopped all attempts at raping her and brought her decent food at least once a week, and blessed water. The only thing he could do nothing about was the torture when Havloh came to ‘visit’ her, which was every three days just after noon.

Annetta was left bleeding and in pain after each session, and when Havloh left they came in to patch her up. The doctor that attended her wore the plague mask so she couldn’t see his face and while his movements didn’t cause her more pain, they weren’t gentle. His actions were curt and cold and he never spoke the few times she had tried saying something to him. Annetta knew she wouldn’t find help from him, and it was better that she didn’t see his face because then he would be a man. That way to her he would just be that mask; expressionless and unfeeling.

She wished Havloh wore a mask, and that way she wouldn’t see how much he enjoyed inflicting pain on her.

The injuries she received didn’t go ignored in the leaders’ presence; Pierto. When he had first told her his name, her heart had stopped a moment since she could have sworn he had said ‘Piero’, but when she had asked him to repeat it she realized it was Pierto. However, it was still too close as to cause a shudder to race down her spine before she squashed the feeling down. It was useless to think of such things now, and wouldn’t be surprised if that man was dead by now. Annetta herself felt almost at death’s door most days.

If it had been anyone else besides Pietro she would have gone the route of seduction, but she had quickly learned that he held no physical attraction toward her. It took Annetta almost two weeks to figure him out. He had an adolescent daughter, and Annetta appeared to be sixteen due to her small frame. In the state they had Annetta in, she probably looked young and vulnerable, and Annetta was sure the man saw his daughter when he looked at her. So, while Pietro was in the prison cell with her she milked her injuries for everything it was worth until she gained Pietro’s sympathy.

Once she had it he would let his guard, and she would get the better of him and escape. It was likely that he would be killed for allowing her to escape, and it bothered her to think of it, but she had no other choice. That man...he was going to kill her unless she did something. It had been almost four months since she’d been captured and there was no sign of Ciro. So, it was with very little guilt that she would put her escape plan into play, and hoped she had the strength to get out of there.

~o~

_August 17, 1500_

When she finally made her escape, it was the week Pietro brought her food, and was in luck since he had brought a bowl of oatmeal with pieces of apples in it. It was cold but she was hungry, and had no qualms about eating it. Then she smashed the empty bowl over his head when he ducked to retrieve the water skin she had ‘accidentally’ dropped. The man staggered, stunned by the hit but wasn’t knocked out and she used his momentary distraction to free her legs. She slipped down onto her feet but her legs felt like jelly, and had to grab onto the table or she would have face planted.

Annetta grabbed the dagger from his belt while he was still dazed from the hit to his head. “Forgive me, Pietro,” she muttered before using the handle to knock him out. The man crumpled and she sat beside him because trying to crouch down right now was impossible. Annetta removed his shirt with some difficulty, and covered herself with it. She had no time for anything else if she wanted to get out of here, so she grabbed his sword and used it like a crutch and staggered to the door. When she tried to open it, she found that it might be too heavy and it might not have enough momentum to knock the guard out. So, she laid the sword aside, braced herself against the door and pushed it. Her added weight behind it was enough to get it going too fast too quickly and struggled to stay on. She heard a gasp, a sickening crunch and it was followed by a thud before the door came to a stop.

Annetta released the door, but not completely or she was sure her legs would give way under her if she put any weight on them. She had gotten dangerously thin the past four months, and her legs had also begun to atrophy and could barely move them. Annetta looked around the door and saw who she could only guess was Francesco, and he was crumpled against the wall and the door, unconscious with blood trailing from his broken nose. The woman didn’t linger any longer and this time grabbed Francesco’s sword since it was closer, and made her way slowly down the hallway. When she got to the main door, she wondered why she hadn’t seen anyone.

Despite her suspicions, she couldn’t stop now and opened the door a crack to peek outside, and almost slammed it closed again when a patrol came around the corner. The sun hadn’t completely risen yet so it was still slightly dark, but she had enough light to see them. She watched them until they were out of sight and only waited a few moments before pushing the door open and hobbling outside.

They were sure to be guarding the entrance, but she would go around another way if need be and looked around the still slightly dark compound. She spotted some crates against the back of the stone wall that enclosed the property, and they could act as stairs. Annetta didn’t think twice about it and moved as fast as she could toward them. It was then that the sun finally crested the horizon and sunlight flooded the vicinity.

Annetta staggered to a stop as it blinded her after so many months spent in that dark prison cell, the small hole in the ceiling only providing enough light to rival candlelight. She tried to keep moving forward, but Annetta didn’t know which way she was going, or if she would be able to even get over the wall in her current state. If she did manage it, then she had no idea where she was or how far away from the main path she was. From what she had seen, she wasn’t in the tower as she had imagined before, and had to be somewhere on the outskirts of Roma.

When she finally felt something under her outstretched hand, she heard a shout behind her and her eyes had slightly adjusted to the light that she saw that the patrol had spotted her. Annetta’s legs still weren’t cooperating with her, and she couldn’t even get on the first crate before she was surrounded. She brandished the sword in two shaking hands, since malnutrition had weakened her and had no strength in her arms.

They disarmed her in two seconds flat as she was knocked to the ground, and wheezed as a booted foot came to rest harshly against her throat. She weakly clawed at it as the guard pushed down until she was sure he would crush her windpipe. “Lift your boot off her,” a voice said coldly. Even as he removed his boot, Annetta felt terror press down on her chest and made her feel like she was lacking air. “Get her up.” The young woman was pulled up and then supported between two beastly men, and she looked up into Havloh’s black eyes “Who let the sparrow out of her cage?” he asked with a sigh, but his eyes were like sharp knives.

Annetta tried to cringe away when he reached out, but his fingers merely smoothed the material of her stolen shirt between the digits. “That’s a fine piece of clothing you’re wearing. Let’s see if we can find the owner.” He turned sharply and walked back toward the building, and the guards dragged her after him. Annetta was fervently praying that Pietro had already left and had somehow found another shirt.

However, as they entered inside, she could slightly see around Havloh’s body that Pietro was just outside her prison cell and checking a still unconscious Francesco. He was still shirtless, and he had a dried trail of blood staining his temple.

“Messere Pietro,” Havloh called in his accent, which sounded more like ‘Misere Petrho’, or something along those lines. Pietro seemed used to his accent since he straightened right away with an expressionless face, but he faltered the slightest bit when he saw Annetta being dragged between two of his guards. “It seems you not only let the prisoner escape, but you let her injure you as well.” He motioned with his hand and the guards dragged forward before throwing her at Pietro’s feet.

“Is this your shirt the via ratto had stolen?” he asked as if engaging in a pleasant conversation. There was no need for Pietro to answer, since his shirtless state was enough without him having to say anything. However, the man nodded slowly without taking his eyes off Havloh, and not daring to even look at the girl crumpled at his feet. “Well, perhaps you should take it back.”

Pietro couldn’t help looking startled then at the man’s suggestion. “I do not understand, Messere Havloh,” he muttered, glancing only momentarily at Annetta before his eyes quickly flittered away before Havloh read more into the look than he wanted to let on.

Havloh’s head tilted the slightest bit. “You don’t?” he inquired with a bit surprise. He turned to one of the other guards that had dragged the prisoner back. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” The man gave a sharp nod, and his eyes had never once left the helpless girl still lying at their feet. “Then, by all means, show your leader and clear his confusion.”

The man grinned cruelly as he pushed his sheath so the belt slid further and rest against the small of his back. “With pleasure.” Annetta tried to get up and scramble away, but the man kicked the back of her knee and she crumpled. Then he fell upon her, pulling the shirt off as she fought him like a wild cat, but she soon lost the only piece of clothing she had. The man threw it at Pietro, but the man didn’t bother to catch it so it fell at his feet. His eyes were instead on the guard straddling the fighting girl.

“You look like you want to do something,” Havloh whispered with that same infuriating smile he had on while he tortured Annetta. She trembled in fear even if that gaze wasn’t directed at her, but she wasn’t afraid for herself. Annetta was afraid for Pietro. She knew Havloh would force the other man’s hand, and she hoped that he wouldn’t let himself become ensnared in the trap.

The torturer signaled to the guard on her and he reached for his trousers, and she couldn’t stop the cry that left her lips. Her legs were forced apart as he freed himself and Annetta was horrified as she tried to kick at him to no avail.

“ ** _Urk_**!” is the noise the guard made as a sword impaled his throat, and blood sprayed her face and naked chest. Annetta’s head snapped up to Pietro as he held the sword in one trembling hand, which he pulled back before kicking the corpse off the young woman. There was no need for an order from Havloh as the rest of the patrol rushed him as Annetta screamed.

**_“No!”_ **

Havloh calmly walked forward, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the floor away from the fighting men. “Смотрите и учитесь не ослушаться меня,” he whispered to her in his native tongue. _Watch and learn to not disobey me._ Annetta didn’t have to understand his language, but knew it had to do about defying him or something.

In the end, the man was disarmed and brought to his knees, but Havloh stopped them before they could kill him. “Take him into the prison cell and strap him to the table,” he said; switching back to Italian. The bleeding man was forced inside and then strapped down where Annetta had spent the last few months being tortured. Annetta was dragged in by her hair by Havloh, and handed over to a guard. “Stand her up, and don’t let this puttana close her eyes.”

Havloh left the room as Annetta and Pietro both struggled to escape, but they were helpless to see what fate awaited them at the hands of this sadistic bastard. Annetta heard footsteps that signaled Havloh’s return, but was confused by the scraping sound that accompanied him along with a second pair of footsteps. “It’s funny the things one sees and learns while working as a doctor,” the man said as he stepped back into the room. “A man with his intestines hanging out of his body, and surviving after having them shoved back in and sewn up. Then there was a woman who got a knife embedded into her skull, and she was still alive and talking.”

He walked further inside to stand over Pietro who was still straining against the shackles. “The one that most shocked me was a young boy that accidentally fell from the roof of his home and landed face first. His whole,” he waved a hand over his features, “it was split in half, and he was still conscious. I managed to stitch it back together, but he bled out too quickly for it to do any good.”

Havloh glanced toward the door as a man that could only be called a giant walked in; having to duck to pass through the high doorway. He was dragging along a large hammer that would take at least three normal sized men to lift. “We’re going to do a little experiment. I was a fumbling twenty-three year old man when that boy died, and it’s been twenty-nine years since then. So, I’m confident I’ll be able to do a more effective job this time.”

Annetta shook her head as she yelled when the huge man lifted the hammer and angled it so a corner of it was facing down. She fought against the guards’ hold to try and save Pietro, or at the very least close her eyes. However, she had no strength to break his hold, and his hand forcing her eyelids back was unmovable.

“Это ваш ошибка,” Havloh sneered at her. _This is your fault._ She felt those words to be true even if she didn’t understand him, and she could not tear her eyes away from Pietro. The man in question had been staring at his impending doom as the hammer was hefted up, but now his eyes darted toward her.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, tears streaking her face. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, and because of her actions a man was about to die and leave his family to fend for themselves. As the hammer swung down, Annetta swore that if she survived, then she would find them somehow. She would find and protect them.

**_CRUNCH!_ **

Annetta’s breath hitched in a sob as the blunt force of the heavy hammer split Pietro’s face in two as several teeth were knocked out and hit the ground in front of her. He was making a horrible gurgling sound and realized that Pietro was screaming, but his jaw had been shattered and tongue pulverized.

Havloh had stepped away but now he moved back to stand beside Pietro’s brutalized body. “It’s a shame I’m not a doctor anymore, or I’d at least try to save him.” He shrugged carelessly as turned his gaze onto the young woman now. “While he bleeds to death I’ll show him what will become of his protected via ratto.”

He gave a sharp nod and the man holding her released and kicked her to the ground. The other three men from the patrol and even the giant man removed their weapons and armory, and proceeded to lower their trousers. “Make sure you scream loud enough so Messere Pietro will hear you, Мало Воробья.”

Annetta screamed. She sobbed and cried as the four men brutality raped her while Pietro lay dying a mere three feet away. When they had finished sating their lust and she lay like a broken doll on the floor, covered in semen and blood and dirt, she could hear the ragged breath still coming from the man on the table. They had been momentarily left alone, since Pietro was still shackled to the table, and Annetta could barely lift her head where she lay on the filthy ground.

However, as she noticed the breaths coming fewer in between, she lifted up on shaking arms and dragged her beaten body closer to the suffering man. She collapsed against it, back pressed along the side of it and reached up over her head. Annetta groped blindly for a moment before her fingers found his, and she felt tears sting her eyes as his longer digits closed around hers.

“I _will_ get out of here, and when I do I will find your family and protect them. Da Dio IO lo giuro!” His fingers tightened around hers before they went slack, and the harsh breathing tapered off. Annetta wept long and hard, and held onto his hand until they forcefully took her away.

~o~

_November, 1500_

A cough raked her body as she lay shivering in the cold prison cell. Her lips burned from how dry they were, having cracked and split open so many times that running her tongue along them hurt too much. She was huddled in the corner of the filthy room and the iron shackle around her right ankle was unbearably cold.

Annetta knew that winter had come by the cold days and even colder nights. She only knew that it was November because of the whispering from the guards. They liked to speak during the night to fill the many quiet hours until sunrise. Nobody spoke with her save for Havloh, and when they came for her in the dark hours, Annetta closed her eyes and went to another place in her mind.

The torture lessons had turned into language lessons, ridiculously enough, and she now had a very basic grasp of Russian. It seems Havloh liked to hiss his nasty comments in his native tongue, and taught her so she would understand him. After all, whispering into ear in an attempt to bring down her morale and break her unshakeable silence would have no affect if she didn’t understand him.

Annetta hadn’t uttered a single word of what he wanted to know, and anything she told him wasn’t even worth the effort it had taken to say it. She would be lying if she said that she wasn’t growing tired. They had moved from the place where they had previously been, and this time she was sure she was in one of the towers. She could now move around more easily, so her legs now had more strength but she was deprived of food and water for three days before Havloh came to visit her. Annetta was as weak as a new born kitten then, and at his mercy.

At the present moment she was sporting a dislocated shoulder, a sprained wrist, and a broken rib that pressed against her lung if she made any sudden movements and made breathing difficult. The doctor, since Havloh wouldn’t clean and bandage her wounds despite being capable of doing so, had wrapped her chest as she had previously done to hide her gender. It had been four days since then and Havloh hadn’t returned yet. Either he was occupied with other things, or was allowing her time to recuperate. After all, if her rib punctured her lung then she was likely to die and he didn’t want to kill her. Well, not yet, at least.

“Он забыл о вас,” Havloh had murmured into her ear like a lover at the end of their last session. _He has forgotten about you._ Annetta had vehemently denied his words with every fiber of her being as she had spat at him. She had learned quickly not to spit at him because he always made her eat it, but she had been so affected by his words at the time that she hadn’t cared about that. Because in her heart, she was starting to believe it.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Il Solitario Assassino - The Solitary Assassin  
> via ratto - street rat  
> piccolo ratto - small rat  
> Basta - no more; enough; that will do  
> Мало Воробья - little sparrow  
> Это ваш ошибка - This is your error/fault  
> Смотрите и учитесь не ослушаться меня. - Watch and learn to not disobey me.  
> Da Dio IO lo giuro - By God I swear it  
> Он забыл о вас - He has forgotten about you


	22. The Dark Corners of My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciro’s history was short and basic for a reason, since I wanted to focus more on other things for this particular chapter. I hope nobody was disappointed in the short history lesson lol Also, usual patrols are four or five guards? I’ve put four before, but for some reason I had the feeling that it was five all of a sudden. Oh well. I proof-read it to the best of my abilities, but there might still be some mistakes I missed. Anyone wanna be my beta? Also, I _had_ to cut it, because it was getting to be very...very long.

**Chapter Twenty-two:** _The Dark Corners of My Heart_

_May 12, 1500_

Ciro was restless. His early morning practice hadn’t been productive, and his excursion into the crowd to steal a bit of fiorini had ended in a near confrontation with the guards.

There was something wrong.

It was now nearing noon by the position of the sun and Annetta hadn’t returned from her foolish viewing of the flower petals. Of course, he had never approved of the habit, since doing the same thing repetitively was dangerous. It was never a good thing to always be somewhere at the same time in case someone caught onto the routine. Being predictable was likely to get you killed, and especially for a thief.

For Ciro, it was more perilous since he had both the Assassins and the Templars searching for him. Annetta didn’t know anything about it, and he hadn’t seen a need to tell her and further jeopardize her. After all, just being with him was a danger to her, but he simply couldn’t bear to see her parted from his side.

This worry had started a few months ago when he had stolen the money pouch of the worst possible person imaginable. He hadn’t recognized the man in black robes at the time, and he had been concentrated in dodging around civilians to pay too much attention to what they were wearing. Ciro had glanced momentarily over his shoulder as he had darted away and met Niccolo Machiavelli’s eyes glaring darkly at him. He had run like a scared rabbit from a hungry wolf, and they had managed to escape by the skin of their teeth. Even so, he hadn’t been able to relax since then.

Even now he wanted to tear Roma apart looking for Annetta, but knew that if she was just running a bit late then she’d be annoyed with him for babying her. So, he determined to wait twenty more minutes before going and searching under every stone for his surrogate daughter. As he waited, Ciro thought of things he hadn’t in a long time that had resurfaced after the brief meeting with Niccolo.

November 27, 1471. It was a date that he would never forget. While it had been almost twenty-nine years ago, the thought of moving past it was painful to consider.

Ciro Petaccia had been part of the secretive Assassin Brotherhood since he had been indicted at the tender age of sixteen years old. It was tradition in their household, since their father had trained them as soon as they had been old enough to wield a sword properly. His older brother who was two years older than him was already a master at wielding the sword, and more than proficient at hand to hand combat. In fact, his sleight of hand was turning out to be almost as good as the thieves that were trained in the Guild.

His fourteen year old brother confessed during one of their late afternoon when Ciro had been twelve that he wanted to join the Thieves’ Guild. Of course, saying as much to their father was out of the question. The man was a Master Assassin, and he expected his sons to follow in his footsteps. Ciro hadn’t known what to say in the face of such a confession, since he wanted to be an Assassino just like their father.

When he told the man a year later of wanting to join the Thieves’ Guild, he hadn’t blown up as they had both imagined. It seems he was an Assassin through and through, since he had discovered it on his own and had just been waiting for Mario to gather the courage to tell him. The elder Petaccia had introduced his brother to La Volpe and he had started training personally with the man as a favor to their father. It would be the same thing, since the Thieves’ Guild was run by an Assassin, and they helped the Brotherhood and vice versa.

Meanwhile, Ciro was left to their father to train and by the time he was sixteen, he was ready to become a recluta. Granted, he had been trained enough by his father to be considered at least an Assistente. However, it was tradition to start at the bottom and work ones way up the nine ranks before finally attaining the Assassino rank. It was in 1467 after many solo and team missions, that at the age of eighteen he finally achieved that much coveted rank.

It was six months later that he was sent to Roma, and there he infiltrated a small growing band of Templars. He flawlessly played the role of Ludovico Gonzaga, a disgraced Assassin that had been tossed aside by the Order and was looking for revenge. They accepted him readily enough as long as he gave away information on the location of their hideouts and supply lines. He gave them false locations that had been set up for this very reason, and although there had been nobody there, the single Assassin robe found and weapons confiscated were enough to cement their trust in him.

In six more months he had become a full-fledged Templar, and all the while he was feeding the Assassins information in secret. While deep undercover, he fell in love against his will to Paula, a middle-class woman whose father had dealings with the Templars. The Assassino had felt torn on revealing the man’s involvement with the Templars, since then she might be put into danger.

He married her when he was twenty and the young woman eighteen, and a few months later bore him a daughter. The little girl became the apple of his eye, and his son was born not even a year after her. At the age of 22, Ciro felt that he had spent enough time away from the Brotherhood and needed to return to Firenze with his wife and two children, whom he would train as Assassins. His position had become very precarious and didn’t want to risk his family lest Ciro be discovered as a spy.

However, his brother-in-law intercepted the message that he sent and Paula’ father confronted him about it. Ciro tried to deny it but the message was clearly in his handwriting. The man had brought several Templar lackeys with him; the same men he had trained and fought with were now trying to kill him. Ciro had no choice but to fight his way out, but he couldn’t bear to kill his father-in-law and then face his wife, so he only injured him and fled.

Ciro met his two team mates on the way out and told them that they had to get his family out. _‘Get them to safety! Go!’_ He stood his ground and fought to give his brothers time to get to his family, and then managed to escape. However, upon arriving to the house it was to the horror that the Assassins had been too late to stop the Templars from murdering his family, and had been slain as well. His wife’s brother had been there and Ciro had been too horrified to defend and had gotten injured when the man had attacked him. 

Ciro flinched as he recalled the memory that was almost thirty years old, and which still caused him pain. He slipped his hand into his pouch to touch the pink ribbon that he kept on him at all time, which had belonged to his daughter. It had been the only thing he could converse before he had to flee again, but this time from his own Assassin brothers. His brother-in-law had made them made them believe Ciro had killed his team mates for failing to protect his family. Ciro had been too consumed with grief to do little more than flee for his life, and twenty-nine years later he was still running.

The fifty-one year old thief grabbed his sheath and left the safe-house. He needed to find Annetta before history repeated itself, and he once more lost a daughter.

~o~

_May 22, 1500_

Ten days. That’s how long Annetta had been missing and he hadn’t been able to track her down. The trail had led him to the Terme di Traiano three days ago, but if she had been held there then they were long gone by that point. From there the trail went cold, and he could hardly sleep, or eat at thinking of Annetta and whether she was suffering or not. He wouldn’t lose hope, because that meant accepting that she was truly gone. Ciro would search all of Roma if he had to, and for as long as it took.

He had debated asking his brother for help, but that was out of the question. If these were Templars that had taken Annetta, then they had somehow figured out that Robyn and the Il Solitario Assassino were one and the same. This would mean that after all these years they were still looking for him, and he knew only one man that could hold a grudge for so long. That was his wife’s half-brother; Havloh Jäger.

Paula’s father had an affair with a woman while in Russia five years before Paula was born, and the woman had a son whom she named Havloh and gave him her maiden name. He kept them in Russia, hidden away like a dirty secret but always supported them. This was the reason that Havloh had been able to study medicine and become a doctor. The half-siblings exchanged many letters over the years after learning of the others existence, and grew close. They’d grown so close, that when he arrived in Italy when he was twenty three, they bonded as if they had grown up together.

Havloh had never liked Ciro or his involvement with Paula, and Ciro didn’t like Havloh as well. The older man was always too eager to take his sister away from him and then opposed their marriage. Of course, Paula wasn’t swayed from marrying ‘Ludovico’, and they were married a month later. The man was tolerant of Ciro after that to please his sister, and when their children were born there was no kindness in his eyes even for his niece and nephew.

Ciro knew that after the death of his sister, the man would do everything in his power to hunt him down. It was this very reason that he feared now for Annetta’s safety, and the thought that perhaps Havloh had somehow figured out the connection that existed between Annetta and Ciro.

He had to find Annetta.

~o~

_September 03, 1500_

He gagged as he stumbled out of the prison cell, his arm up to his mouth and nose to keep from breathing in the stench of rotting flesh. It was terrible and gruesome to look at what was there, but the thief forced himself to enter. Too late. He was too late once again.

Ciro stood over the man who had been killed while shackled to the stone table, and then left to rot. There wasn’t much left of his face, so even if he hadn’t already started to decompose, then there was no way to identify the poor bastard.

A more thorough search didn’t turn up anything else and he kicked the helmet that had been left behind. He paused as he saw something flutter out of the helmet, and moved closer. Ciro crouched down and picked up the piece of parchment, and saw that it was a sketch of a young woman. At first glance Ciro thought it was Annetta, but on closer inspection he realized that this young woman was an adolescent girl. Her eyes were almond shaped and her lips plump, and she wore a crown of flowers on her short hair.

The man stood and tucked the sketch into his pouch along with his daughter’s ribbon, and left the prison cell. If they had held Annetta here, they were gone now and once more he was left without a clue as to where to start looking. Quite frankly, he was growing desperate, and he knew he needed help. However, Ciro didn’t know who to turn to for help, or he did, but he was sure they wouldn’t help him.

There was only one person besides his brother that had never believed him to be a traitor, but wasn’t sure if he would help him. After the attack on Monteriggioni in January, he was sure the man would have fled to Firenze. The only thing to do was to send him a message and beg for help, since he would need assistance rescuing her when he found Annetta.

So, he wrote a letter and then hired a courier to deliver it as fast as possible to Firenze. On the outside of the letter was written ‘Messere Fedele Gargani’.

~o~

_September 15, 1500_

Ugo Ubaldi frowned as he accepted the letter that was addressed to his master, and wondered how the person sending it hadn’t gotten news that the man was dead. Once he had tipped the courier, the man left the way he had come and Ugo closed the door. He eyed the letter for several long minutes as if it would somehow tell him what he was supposed to do. Ugo couldn’t open it, and leaving it unopened seemed wrong somehow.

In any other situation, the logical thing would have been to give it to Fedele’s son, but the man only had a daughter. So, once more Ugo was stumped on how to deal with this letter. After several more minutes inner arguing and counter-arguing; he finally broke the seal to read it. Fedele had entrusted Ghita’s safety to him, and thus had to deal with any affairs having to do with him or her until the girl married. Of course, he ignored the fact that the thought of her marrying some other man made him a bit sick.

_‘My Dearest Friend,_

_I wouldn’t have written this letter if there had been any other choice. The circumstances of my exile from the Brotherhood are the main reason why I shouldn’t be writing you this letter. However, men do desperate things during desperate times. I am in need of your help, and there is nobody else that can help me in this endeavor. The Templars have taken a person who is most important to me, and although I have searched for months now, there has been no progress. I understand that you have not been in Roma since before your daughter was born, but there is no one else I can trust. If I try to ask the Brotherhood for help, Niccolo will sooner put his blade through my throat than hear me out. I cannot afford to die at this moment, or at least, not until I have recovered my daughter. If you agree to assist me then I will meet you on the southwest corner of the Piazza di Navona on October 15 at noon. Regardless of your answer, I wish you and your daughter safety and peace._

_Ciro Petaccia.’_

Ugo frowned as he turned the letter over, but found nothing else. He re-read it once more and then set it aside. Well, that was certainly unexpected, and a bit disconcerting. It seemed that they were not through being involved with the Brotherhood, but wondered if he shouldn’t just set it aside and forget about it. After all, his master was dead and any obligation he had to this Ciro Petaccia had been taken to his grave.

Also, from the letter it was clear that he was exiled from the Assassin Brotherhood, so that was another reason to ignore the letter. So, Ugo resolved that this is what he would do despite the nagging in his chest at remembering the desperation he could feel from the man’s letter. He wished him luck and set the parchment aside. It wasn’t his concern. Ugo’s only concern was toward Ghita and her well-being.

After he left the study of the small house they occupied in Firenze, a figure darted inside and picked up the discarded piece of parchment. The sandy haired female quickly read the letter over as her hazel eyes widened at the words written there. “This man knew my father,” Ghita Gargani muttered. The young woman tucked the letter into a hidden pocket on her dress and slipped away.

October 15 was thirty days away, so it would be plenty of time for her to somehow get away from Ugo’s hawk-like eyes and flee to Roma. Her immediate wish to go and assist this man wasn’t just because she wanted to know how this Ciro knew her father, but also because he needed help. As her father’s daughter, she was obligated to help him in Fedele’s stead.

Ghita would go to Roma and help Ciro save his daughter.

~o~

_September 29, 1500_

Ugo lifted the man by the throat so his feet were clear off the ground as he gasped and sputtered, trying to take in air. “You let her go to the market by herself!?” he snarled angrily. “I left you here because you were not supposed to let her go _anywhere_ alone!”

The man choked an apology as his legs kicked and tried to find purchase on the floor. Ugo sneered in disgust before dropping him as he coughed and retched where he lay crumbled at his feet. He kicked him as the other man yelped in pain. “Get up! We’re going to go look for her, and you better beg Dio that we find her unharmed!”

By nightfall, they hadn’t found a single trace of Ghita, and Ugo was out of his mind with worry. He dismissed the man, ordering him to go looking for the girl again before he gave into his desire to kill him in a murderous rage. Actually, Ugo wanted to be left alone with his guilt, because he felt he had failed his master. 

_‘Take care of her for me.’_ Those had been the last words Fedele had said to Ugo before he had rushed off to defend against the enemy, and Ugo had failed. He didn’t know where she was at the moment, and she could be in the Arno by now for all he knew.

Ugo screamed in frustration and flung the abacus that had been sitting on the desk as it hit the wall, and the beads flew everywhere. The abacus knocked a few books over, and with it a piece of parchment that was sticking out of a book he had been reading the other day. He had meant to go back to the book today, but it had been forgotten when he realized Ghita had snuck out after he had gone to meet with the Fabbro. The sword he had sent to be made for Ghita was supposed to arrive that day, but when he had asked the young woman, she stated that it hadn’t arrived yet. It should have been there early that morning, so he could train the young woman with it and she would get use to the lighter weapon.

Ghita had complained about a stomach ache, so he had left her with one of the unexperienced mercenaries, since he had doubted they would be attacked there. If someone tried to rob the house, the man was skilled enough to handle some lowlife thieves, and Ghita wasn’t exactly a defenseless little girl anymore. However, when he had arrived at the blacksmith’s shop, the man had stated that he had sent his assistant to deliver it already. Ugo had hurried back with a sickening feeling in his belly, and it had intensified when he realized that Ghita had charmed her way past the imbecile guard he had left for her.

As Ugo picked up the piece of parchment, that sickening feeling intensified when he realized that she had planned the whole thing.

_‘Ugo,_

_First of all, do not be angry with me and the decision that I’ve taken. The things I screamed at you that day Monteriggioni was attacked are not true. I care about you more than you will ever know, but this is something I must do! The days and months that have passed have not been enough to heal the hurt that my father’s death has caused. Now, this letter comes out of nowhere from a man that not only knows my father, but that needs his help. There is no way I could leave it alone and do nothing. So, I’ve left for Roma, and I know that you will follow me, if only to fulfil your duty to my father. Don’t lag behind, old man._

_Love, Ghita.’_

Ugo’s hand was shaking as he held the letter in his hand, and unable to comprehend how he let this happen. He had always known that this day would come, because she had sworn it as Monteriggioni burned behind them.

_‘I will go to Roma. I will go and find the one responsible for burning my home to the ground. The one responsible for my father’s death! I swear to Dio, I will!’_

He hadn’t doubted the young woman’s words, since she was as stubborn and determined as her father had been. Even as he had dragged her to Firenze, he knew that one day she _would_ find her way to Roma. This is the reason he had been training her from the first day they had arrived back in January. However, just because he had known didn’t mean he was calm about her decision, and he was actually pretty pissed. Because he had known, but he had also determined that he would ride at her side as they headed to Roma. Once there he would find allies within the Brotherhood, but Ghita’s rash actions had made that impossible.

This Ciro Petaccia was exiled from the Assassins, and it seems that Niccolo Machiavelli was after his blood. If he discovered that they were helping the traitor, then they would automatically be seen as enemies of the Order. Either way, he would follow her first thing tomorrow morning, but it wasn’t because of his duty to his master. Ugo was going after the almost eighteen year old, because despite his fierce denial, he was in love with that girl. He’d been in love ever since she had given him that gap-tooth smile and melted his grieving twelve-year old heart.

~o~

_October 2, 2014_

It was three days out of Firenze that Ghita was rethinking having decided to travel to Roma by horse. Her legs were numb and her ass was sore from sitting in the saddle for so long. Also, she wasn’t use to wearing men’s clothing, and the pants were riding up into places that were not to be mentioned in polite conversation. Ghita had been forced to cut her hair into a short style, so she just felt over all uneasy and uncomfortably exposed. Perhaps she hadn’t thought this plan completely through.

Well, there was no way she was turning back, and especially at the thought of facing Ugo if she were to return. He had most likely already found the letter already, and would undoubtedly be furious. So, she preferred to continue forward rather than turn around. Also, Ghita wanted to meet Ciro Petaccia and help him in her father’s place, and thus she might finally gain closure.

It had been nine months since her father had died in defense of Monteriggioni, and she still grieved over his death. For a long time she had been angry at Ugo for supposedly abandoning her father to die, and had screamed insults at him. When Maria and Claudia Auditore had ridden to Roma, Ghita had tried to go with them along with the small group of mercenaries that would accompany them. Ugo, however, wouldn’t allow it. They had argued angrily for several minutes until the man had threatened to knock her out again if he had to. She had been forced to go with him, and hadn’t said a word to him all the way to Firenze.

After Ghita had calmed down, she had started to think more clearly, and had felt shame at the words she had so thoughtlessly said to the man. It was two weeks after arriving in the city that Ghita had swallowed her pride and apologized to Ugo. He had accepted and that had appeared to be the end of it. Now, looking back, she realized that in the back of her mind she had always known that she would go to Roma.

In his heart, she believed that Ugo knew it as well, and had increased her training. As she was now, Ghita could start a fight without a weapon, and by the end have her opponent’s weapon at their throat. She was well-versed in double-wielding both the sword and the short dagger, since her father had her training as soon as she had turned twelve. 

This was also when she had met Ugo for the first time, or at least, the first time she remembered. Her father had assured her that they had met when she had been four and she had followed the twelve year old everywhere. That she had been distraught when they had been separated and Ugo had left to train with the mercenaries. It seems that she had forgotten him over the years, but when she thought of it, there _was_ a vague memory of an older boy.

Ghita yawned heavily as she quickly brushed the horse down before see went to get to the saddle to put it back on the animal. Once she was sure it was secure, she went to grab the rest of her things to tie them off to the saddle. She hadn’t gotten too much sleep, since she only dared to stop and rest for three hours, and never mind sleeping in the saddle. Ghita was likely to topple off and break her neck.

The young woman sighed as she stretched with another yawn before reaching up to grab the saddle horn, and then hoisted herself up onto the saddle. She was tired, but there was still five more days before she reached Roma. The reason she didn’t want to stop for too long was that she was afraid that Ugo would catch up and force her to return to Firenze. If she made it and spoke with Ciro, then even if Ugo found her there was no way he would force her back. After all, if she gave her word then Ugo wouldn’t force her to go back on it, since he was a man of _his_ word.

So, with that thought in mind, Ghita urged the horse to go faster and soon as she was in a full gallop despite the pain it would cause her later. After five more days suffering, it would all be worth it.

~o~

_October 15, 1500_

Ghita had all the determination and strength of will to find Ciro Petaccia. She would do so because it’s what her father would have done. Of course, he would have strongly disapproved of Ghita being the one to help him, and especially of the actions she had taken. In truth, the young girl would have wanted Ugo to come with her, and Ghita was sure he would have eventually conceded when he thought she was ready. However, by that point it would have been too late to help Ciro’s daughter.

Even now, the possibilities of finding her alive after all these months; well, Ghita was expecting to find a corpse to bury. Although, sometimes it was good to have closure, which is the reason Ghita was helping Ciro. Her father’s body had never been recovered, and it was the same with so many that had defended Monteriggioni. This is one of the reasons she was doing what she was doing, because she herself had never gained closure.

Now, if only she could find Ciro without the need to ask around, since she doubted he wanted his name to circulate. The Piazza di Navona was rather large, and crowded at this time of day. So, trying to find a single man within all these people was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. Ghita took out the letter from the small coin pouch she had with her, and re-read it.

There were no more instructions or clues except what was written there, and she was in the southwest part of the plaza. It wouldn’t be wise to make a spectacle, or the man would never appear. He was a wanted man from what she had read, but she didn’t know who this organization was that he spoke of. Ghita suspected that the Niccolo he mentioned in the letter was Niccolo Machiavelli, who she had seen in Monteriggioni once or twice but couldn’t be too sure.

Ghita shifted nervously in the dress she was wearing that day since she felt uncomfortable, and this was one of the simplest ones that the owner of the Inn she was staying at had. Well, that was a bit of a stretch, since she was working for her room and food.

She had miscalculated the amount of fiorini she would need, and she only had enough for three nights. After that she had begged to be allowed to work to pay for the remaining four days until the scheduled meeting with Ciro. It had been amusing to watch the scandalous look on the face of the owner’s wife when she had discovered that the young man was actually a young woman. Well, needless to say, that had been the end of her trouser wearing days.

Ghita had never had a motherly figure in her life before, so she was slightly overwhelmed by the plump woman trying to play dress-up with her. After discovering that the clothing had belonged to her niece that had been raped and dumped in the Tevere, Ghita had conceded to her whims. As the woman had presented her with a white nightgown later that night, Ghita had asked if they knew who had hurt their niece.

“There’s no proof, but I’d bet my life that it was the guards.” She had tears in her eyes, but there was a fire there as well. Ever since that day she had started to look more closely at the downtrodden people of Roma, and realized that a lot of their suffering had to do with the guards. Monteriggioni had been under protection of Mario Auditore and his mercenaries, and in Firenze the guards upheld the law. So, Roma’s situation was alien to her. There had been times over the last four days where her temper had gotten the better of her at seeing the cruelty of the guards. The woman had to drag her off while apologizing profusely to the armed men, and then she had chastised her on antagonizing the dangerous guards.

Her eyes automatically tracked the guards whenever they came into the piazza, since she was justifiably wary of them. Ghita didn’t want any trouble at the moment while she was trying to find Ciro, so when they got too close to her position, Ghita would duck out of sight until they had passed. After the third time, the young woman was growing frustrated, since she was never going to get anywhere if it continued this way.

Ghita’s attention was snagged by a man that had just stepped into the piazza. He was wearing clothes that had seen better days, which consisted of dark pants, a beige long sleeved shirt that could have once been white, and a dark green vest over it. His gloves were dark blue and fingerless, and his hair was tucked under a ratty hat.

She was too busy wondering if she should approach him that Ghita didn’t realize that the patrol had come back around in their rounds. The seeker spotted her first and pointed her out to the rest of his companions. They abandoned their route and moved toward her as their most agile member hurried over. He was upon her in moments and the girl jumped in shock as she flinched away.

Meanwhile, Ghita was silently cursing her short temper that now had her in this situation. She couldn’t flee or they would think she had done something wrong and she’d be chased out of the plaza, and then she would never find Ciro. However, if she endured their harassment then they would eventually get bored with her and leave her alone. Now, Ghita only hoped that Ciro wouldn’t be spooked by this whole ordeal.

“Are you going to remain mute now, ragazza? Where is all that passion you showed before?” one of the guards jeered. Ghita remembered him well. He had been the one that had been pushing an old man around while his comrades had stolen the fruits that he had been selling. She had gotten angry at the unfair situation and had yelled that they were cowards, and needed to stop being gutless worms and leave the defenseless old man alone. That was one of the times the Inn mistress had dragged her away while begging the angry men to forgive Ghita. She had offered them free meals from the Inn in compensation even as Ghita had protested, but an elbow shoved into her stomach had shut her up.

By the look the man was giving her, he hadn’t forgotten her words and the meal had done nothing to placate him. Ghita only hoped he didn’t try to grope her, or she was likely to punch him in the face. Then she would be forced to fight them off, and Ghita would be in real trouble then. She was only carrying a dagger with her at the moment, since having a sword while she wore this dress would have drawn too much attention to her.

“Don’t tell me the little mouse has gone mute,” he sneered as he reached out to grab her. Ghita would later argue that it had been a reflex, but whether that was the case, it didn’t stop the outcome of her reflex.

As his fingers touched her upper arm, she slapped them away with her right hand and then slammed her elbow into his stomach. Or rather, she tried to drive it into his stomach, but she overestimated her height and instead hit his groin. A sound reminiscent of a whimper and a squeak left his mouth as he doubled over in pain, and she took advantage to lift her knee into his face. The man crumpled in an unconscious heap as everything froze around them.

“Cazzo,” she hissed under her breath.

“Troia!” one of the others snarled and lunged at her. Ghita ducked his grab as she pulled the dagger from the sheath hidden within the folds of her shirts, and in the same instant cut across his Achilles tendon. He howled in pain as he collapsed, and Ghita hopped back several paces to avoid the swipe of a sword.

“Now you die puttana!”

Ghita’s eyes darted between the last three guards as they circled her, and she moved her back close to a wall so they wouldn’t be able to attack her from behind. However, that also meant that she was cornering herself, but Ugo had once told her that she was like a rabid dog when cornered. Her gaze went from one sword to another that the guards were holding, and spotted a rapier being wielded. She smirked.

When one of them attacked her, she simply dodged it, and then had to block when a second guard attacked her right away. She made sure to keep them all within her line of sight as she moved to the left to prevent them from corralling her into a corner. Ghita was going to disarm the third guard, and then injure him with his own weapon. She had never killed anyone before even when Ugo had told her that it would eventually happen. It was either kill or be killed. However, she couldn’t stomach the thought.

As the third guard moved to attack her next, she was shocked as a throwing knife suddenly slammed into the back of his neck. All three of them were shocked, but one of her opponents recovered quickly and tried to run her through. Ghita brought her dagger up high to intercept, preventing it from harming her as she brought her hand up and gave a quick and vicious hit to his unprotected throat.

As he was coughing and gasping from the hit, Ghita used the handle of her dagger to knock him out, and he fell to the pebbled ground. Now she turned to the last guard, but found a stranger trading blows with him and before her eyes he quickly disarmed him and then drove his dagger into his chest all the way to the hilt. Ghita was a bit disturbed as he killed the man without a second thought, and then moved forward and killed her downed opponent and the other two downed men she had injured earlier.

“That seemed unnecessary,” she commented with a hint of disdain. She quickly realized it was the same man she had spotted earlier before she had been attacked by the guards. Although, most would argue that she threw the first punch, but they should have known to keep their hands to themselves.

The man glanced at her in annoyance. “A little gratitude would be appreciated,” he groused. He had to be in his early or late forties, and his dark brown hair had traces of grey.

Ghita gave an exaggerated curtsy. “Thank you, Messere, for killing these guards, and making me even more of a target than I already was.” The man’s eye twitched as she watched in silent amusement, but made sure to keep her face straight. Ghita had always found it hilarious how quickly Ugo got exasperated with her, and she found it funny as this man got worked up. Although, perhaps it was better not to antagonize him, and she remembered how he’d easily killed those men without any hesitation. So, she was now wary of how he’d react at her sarcastic attitude.

The man surprised her as he chuckled a bit. “You remind me too much of my daughter,” he huffed with annoyance but she saw a fond smile on his lips. Ghita thought it might have appeared a bit sad, but she couldn’t be too sure, and she wasn’t about to pry into a stranger’s troubles. “You better go before another patrol comes.”

She was about to answer when she heard a familiar voice shout and the man in front of her tensed as he shifted into a defensive stance. “No, wait-!”

Ghita was too late as Ugo rushed over, thinking the man was attacking her, and the man engaged Ugo trying to defend her. She stumbled back as she saw Ugo unleash his full skills for the first time against an opponent, and she shuddered in fear as the other man matched him blow for blow.

“Stop!” she screamed, trying to keep them from killing one another. The stranger blocked Ugo’s sword with his dagger and swung his now unsheathed sword too fast for Ugo to react. Ghita wildly threw her dagger to intercept the killing blow and the clang of metal made them all flinch as the dagger was knocked away, but the sword was stopped.

Both men jumped away from one another as they disengaged sword and dagger, but before they could attack one another, Ghita boldly stepped in between them. “BASTA!” she yelled, ignoring the small crowd that had grown during the small altercation. She was breathing heavily from having rushed over and the throw had required all her strength to make it in time to avoid a tragedy. “Ugo, this man saved me from the guards! Messere, this man is my protector!”

Ugo glanced at Ghita and then toward the stranger, and then at the dead guards. “Ghita, come here.” Ghita sighed and moved toward him since it was best to avoid making Ugo lose his temper, and besides she was sure that now she’d never find Ciro. The fight with the guards and now this confrontation between Ugo and her savior would have driven the man away.

“Ugo, we’re already here-”

The man hissed angrily at her. “Silencio!” He pushed her behind him as he turned his gaze on the other. “Thank you for saving Ghita, but we’ll be going now.” Ugo grabbed her hand after staring suspiciously at the other for a moment, and started to drag her out of the piazza.

_‘I cannot afford to die at this moment, or at least, not until I have recovered my daughter.’_

Ghita clenched her eyes closed as she reached into the hidden pocket to grab Ciro’s letter. Her eyes snapped open when she realized that it wasn’t there. The young woman turned back toward the piazza as Ugo dragged her away, and saw the stranger crouch down and recover a piece of parchment. _‘The letter!’_

His own eyes widened in shock before they lifted and met hers, and she knew in that moment. The stranger that had saved her was Ciro Petaccia. She yanked her hand away from Ugo and ran back toward Ciro even as Ugo shouted behind her. Her hands hiked her skirts up as she ran, and Ciro could only stare at her in confusion.

She came to a stop in front of him as he still held the letter within his hand. “I’m Ghita Gargani, and on behalf of my father, I will help you recover your daughter!” Ugo skidded to a halt behind her and then looked at the other man in surprise, and Ciro’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Grazia a Dio!” he gasped, clutching the piece of parchment as if it were a lifeline. Ghita only beamed at him, and Ugo sighed and sheathed his sword. Now it seems there would be no other choice but to assist Ciro Petaccia in his quest to save his daughter.

Ugo glanced at Ghita’s grinning face. Then again, there was no other choice he would have made except staying at the girl’s side to ensure her safety and happiness.

~o~

_November 30, 1500_

Ghita shuddered as she curled under the heavy blanket on top of her slender frame. That particular night was colder than it had been since winter had come to Roma. She could hear the crackling of the fire from the pit nearby, and she was sure without it the room would have been freezing. As it was, she didn’t dare sleep too close lest the blanket catch fire, but with how cold she was, she may just risk it.

A quiet murmur of two voices reached her from the other side of the fire pit, and knew that Ciro and Ugo were discussing the lead they would follow the next day. They had learned early on not to exclude her from the planning, since she would undoubtedly come along to help them. She was her father’s daughter and would not be left behind like she had done so many times while she waited for her father to return. Besides, there was no way Ugo would leave her alone in a place where they trusted no one. Ugo didn’t even fully trust Ciro.

She knew that Ugo would tell her their plans tomorrow when the sun would be in the sky, and slightly warmer. It was only a relief that it hadn’t started to snow yet, but that would soon start. Luckily, it would only be contained within December and half-way through January, if they were to believe Ciro. Well, he had lived here so many years and he was sure to be more knowledgeable than them. Ghita knew that Ugo didn’t like relying on the man for everything, but there was nobody else.

Her eyes closed as the soft murmur of voice lulled her into a light slumber that was interrupted by a large body settling close to where she was laying on the ground. Ghita didn’t think twice and rolled into the warm body even as Ugo stiffened against her.

_“Ghita!”_ he hissed, his voice sounding strangled.

The young woman moaned as she snuggled against him, and even daring to wrap her arm around his waist. “Shut up, I’m cold.”

If she had bothered to lift her head from out of the blanket, then she would have seen the panicked look on Ugo’s face. Ciro could plainly see it and tried to stifle a chuckle, but the nasty glare the other man sent him was a clear indication that he’d heard it all the same. “This is not decent behavior, Ghita!”

This time she did lift her face to glower at him as the blanket only came up just to her lips. “If I freeze to death and I meet my papa in Heaven, he’ll be very angry at you that you let me die just because you had a problem with snuggling.”

Ugo made a choking noise as the girl lifted the blanket over her nose before burrowing down to bury her face against his side. This time Ciro didn’t try to stop it as he let out a big belly laugh. Ghita was already asleep and besides twitching slightly, she remained that way.

“Damned brat,” he grumbled, settling down against the make-shift pillow after a moment of hesitation. If Ciro saw as he pulled her more firmly against him and pressed a soft kiss to her sandy hair, he didn’t comment on it.

~o~

_December 5, 1500_

Ugo flinched as Ghita dabbed a little too hard against the slash at his side, but Ghita paid him no mind and continued working. She would tend to Ciro next, but she had treated Ugo first since his was the more serious of their wounds. Ghita didn’t even have a scratch on her. “Cazzo!” he shouted in pain when she jabbed none too gently at his wound.

Ghita glared at the irate man. “It serves you right for being so stupid!” she snapped angrily. He huffed and looked away from her as Ghita started to tend his wound once more.

Ugo had gotten hurt trying to protect her, despite the fact that she had had the situation handled. After all, she could defend herself against multiple attacks since she was a double wielder. Also, Ciro was a master at it and was teaching her and Ghita was improving quickly. Although, apparently not enough for Ugo to believe she could finish her own fight against two opponents.

The man had come between them as the enemy had attacked her from the side, but Ghita had seen it coming and had moved to counter. Then Ugo had suddenly appeared and she had faltered. When her second attacker tried to take advantage of her surprise, Ugo had pushed her away and the guard’s sword had cut a nasty slash on his right side.

She hadn’t been this angry with him since the attack on Monteriggioni. However, more than angry, Ghita had been terrified at the thought of Ugo dying and leaving her all alone. Ghita had thought that she would never have a chance to confess her feelings for the older, stubborn man. She clenched her teeth and gave him a particularly hard dab, and after a yelp of pain he growled and grabbed her wrists to pull her hands away from his wound. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, and he was sure his wound was bleeding again.

Ghita yanked her hands away. “What the hell is wrong with _you_?” she demanded. “Do you think I’m incompetent?”

Ugo sputtered for a moment as he tried to comprehend how the conversation had turned in this direction. “Of course, no-!”’

She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Then you must think I’m weak.”

The man was at a loss for words once more, and Ciro had quite suddenly disappeared. Clearly, he wasn’t fool enough to confront an angry woman, and especially one as well trained as Ghita Gargani was. “Why are you asking me these foolish questions?”

A slender brow lifting was the first indication that he’d said something wrong. “Oh, so you think I’m foolish.” Ugo stumbled over a response as she slapped the bandages into his hand, stood and walked out of the house.

Ciro walked in from the other room a few seconds later as he shook his head, looking at Ugo as if _he_ was the foolish one. “What?” he demanded as he turned back to attending his wound. He would have to suture it himself now that Ghita had stormed off, and quite frankly, he didn’t trust Ciro enough to allow him to stitch him up. A wince crossed his face as he pierced the skin for the first stitch, but afterwards his face remained unchanged. When he finished the slow, painful process, he knotted it off as best as he could from the odd angle he had to work in and then sighed. Now he would have to bandage it.

After he finished he’d try to make amends with Ghita, although, he wasn’t completely sure what he had done to piss her off. Perhaps she’d be satisfied with a general apology or for upsetting her, but his gut was telling him that it wouldn’t do any good. He would have to figure it out and then apologize accordingly.

“You’re thinking mighty hard for a simple answer,” Ciro commented as he prepared the pit so he could light a fire, since the approaching night was looking to be just as cold as the one before it; possibly colder. Ciro was sure that when she got cold enough, Ghita would return, so he wanted to try and get him to understand.

Ugo meanwhile was thinking about the other night as well, and he was sure that Ghita would once more curl up at his side for warmth. Well, if she still wasn’t angry at him. As he remembered her warm, soft body against him, Ugo could admit if only in his mind that he was looking forward to it. He couldn’t stop his heart from loving his charge.

“What do you mean?” he asked warily. It wasn’t that he hated Ciro, but he just didn’t trust the man. He would never trust him with Ghita’s well-being or safety unless he was dying or dead. Ugo didn’t really trust anyone with Ghita anymore, since that’s the reason they were in this situation.

“The girl is young, but she’s been trained well enough to finish her own fights.” Ciro didn’t really want to get in the middle of their dispute, but all three of them were working together and Ciro would prefer that they all tried to get along. Also, Ciro was agitated as well and their added tension wasn’t helping him deal the fact that their lead hadn’t panned out. Now they were back to square one and Ciro was starting to get desperate.

He knew better than anyone that desperate men did reckless things. When he found Annetta, then he would be as reckless as needed to save her, but until then he would have to be cautious. Also, he didn’t want to foolishly risk the lives of the only two people that were helping him; even if Ugo trusted him as far as he could throw him. Although, maybe that was a bad example, because Ugo was a big guy and he may just be able to toss him aside a good distance.

However, his alliance was with the girl who was his deceased friend’s daughter, but it seemed that Ghita and Ugo were a packaged deal. If he had dealings with Ghita then he was forced to have then with Ugo as well. Although, personally, he had nothing against Ugo, but the man’s lack of trust for Ciro kept rearing its ugly head. It had nothing to do with the couple’s problem at the moment though.

“That has nothing to do with you,” Ugo snapped defensively. Ciro sighed and resisted rolling his eyes at the bull-headed man as he stood and also left the room.

“You two deserve one another,” he snorted, throwing another piece of wood onto the fire.

Later that night, Ciro slept on one side of the fire pit while Ugo lay across from him and Ghita against the side that faced the wall. A rustling followed by a shuffling sound woke him as he cracked one eye open. He was in time to see Ghita crawl to Ugo’s side, and he heard the man sigh before lifting his end of his blanket. Ghita gave a small sound that might have been a giggle before settling down against the larger man.

Ciro rolled his eyes as he heard them whisper something to one another, and he ignored them as he pulled the blanket more closely around his body. _‘A pair of fools’_ , he thought before rolling just a little closer to the fire and soon he’d drifted off.

~o~

_February 12, 1501_

It was late afternoon when they first brought the boy in. He was only wearing pants that were completely soaked, and he had bandages wrapped around his lower torso. They hadn’t even bothered to chain him to the wall, and Annetta realized he was unconscious when he didn’t stir from where they’d dropped him. He couldn’t be more than ten or possibly eleven summers, and the bandages at his back were stained with blood. She didn’t doubt that the same ones that had brought him in were the same ones that had injured him.

Annetta approached warily while still remaining crouched down, almost animal-like in appearance as she used her hands to balance. When she was close enough, it was to realize that the boy had the curliest hair she had ever seen, and she was reminded of Vittorio. He had always kept his hair short, but there had been once where he hadn’t cut it and Annetta realized he had curly hair. She had run her hands through it at every opportunity she could that night, and pushed her fingers through it while they had been having sex.

The next time they were together, he had cut it close to his scalp once more.

Annetta had thought she was over the man and all she had given him, but she was only deceiving herself. Her heart belonged to him and her body yearned for his touch. In her darkness moments when she was close to giving into despair, it was memories of Ciro _and_ Vittorio both that kept her from losing her mind. It was these same memories that she enveloped herself in when Havloh cut and tore, and chipped away at her sanity.

She was so distracted by her thoughts and remembering better times that she failed to notice the boy’s returning consciousness. So, she flinched when his eyes suddenly opened, and he was frightened by her presence and her appearance. He scrambled away from where he’d been within reach and huddled against the corner as he stared at her warily.

“Who are you?” he demanded. Annetta was a bit surprised that his voice was steady despite the fear she saw on his face. He winced as his hand went to his back where he’d obviously been injured, but she wondered what they thought he had done to warrant them to imprison him. Annetta’s thoughts had been that perhaps his father was an important man and they were holding the boy to get the man to stick his neck out. She certainly wouldn’t put it past them to pull such an under handed trick, but she doubted this was the case. After all these years she could still tell the difference between the fabrics worn by the wealthy and the course material that the common folk of Roma used.

The boy seemed fearless as he stared her down, and Annetta wondered how much of it was bravado on his part to hide how scared he was. If she hadn’t become such an expert at it herself over the past several months, then she would have been fooled by it. However, she could tell by noticing that his hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles were white, and that he had backed against the wall like a scared animal.

She sat down with a sigh since her crouched position was doing nothing good for her ankle. Havloh had broken her ankle two months ago when he had thrown her across the room. The shackle had pulled taunt and then she’d heard something snap with sickening clarity before mind numbing pain had assaulted her. She had puked the little food in her stomach at the agony, and because she was already too weak to try and endure the pain.

A broken ankle was the extent of what she had to endure that day, since he’d been so disgusted with her; or himself, that he had left and sent the doctor in. The dottore had wrapped it tight, splinted it, and the guard had changed the shackle to her left ankle. It had healed completely, but it was still weak and crouching down for long periods of time caused her pain. Of course, Havloh hadn’t spared her his presence while she recovered like when he’d broken her ribs. The man had just stayed away from her ankle and foot in general.

“It’s bad manners to ask someone’s name without giving yours in return,” she drawled, disguising her amusement.

The boy’s brave front dimmed a little as he flushed in embarrassment at having his rudeness pointed out. Then he quickly recovered in the next instant as his glare returned to his face. “Well, its bad manners to sneak up on someone when they’re sleeping,” he countered.

Annetta grinned this time. “Well, you were technically unconscious, so there was no need for manners.” The boy blinked in befuddlement, and then his eyes moved away from her and for the first time he looked around. The walls were black with filth that was a combination of dirt, blood, and gore. Annetta could testify that some of that blood was hers, and she was sure that more would join it soon.

Her gaze moved to the boy as he looked around with eyes wide with fear, and she knew without a doubt that soon his blood would join the mix. Annetta saw him and he was much too innocent, and he reminded her of how she once was.

“What’s your name piccoli?” she whispered gently. “Why have they brought you here?”

Perhaps it was something in her voice or his fear that made him answer as he put aside his trust. “I don’t know,” he whimpered. His entire brave facade crumpled, and she could see the scared child he really was. Maybe he was lying and did know why he’d been brought here, or perhaps he had stolen some much needed food and the guards had caught him. However, Annetta felt her heart constrict as he turned his big brown eyes on her.

“Come here, bambino,” she murmured gently. It was a testament of how scared he was that he didn’t hesitate to crawl over toward her. He settled against her as he sat on her lap, and Annetta wrapped her arms tightly around his trembling frame. She was surprised that she didn’t instinctively flinch away from him as she did whenever any of the men guarding her came near; even when it was just to deliver their food. 

_‘Of course not. He’s nothing but a child,’_ she mused to herself, burying her nose against the silky strands of his hair. It stank of blood and the waters of the Tevere, but she did not care. Annetta had not had contact with another human that didn’t wish to harm her in a long time, and she felt at peace for the moment.

Annetta vowed to try her best to protect him.

~o~

_March 20, 1501_

Annetta could no longer distinguish the days or even the month they were in. The murmurs of the guards was like white noise to her ears, and only the small body of the boy kept her grounded to reality anymore. They came for her more and more these days, and as they defiled her, Annetta retreated into her mind. She had lost count of how many times they raped her. A hundred? A thousand? What did it matter? As the days dragged on, it was all she could do to retain some semblance of sanity.

The only thing that Annetta was grateful for, was that they took her out of the prison cell and was glad that the child wasn’t subjected to the brutality of seeing her getting raped. The only thing that worried her was that they may take him away while she was gone. So far, she had managed to keep the guards’ attention on her, but was helpless when they took the youth to his own sessions with Havloh.

He didn’t have Annetta’s resistance and she knew that he talked because he sobbed it into her shoulder afterwards. The aftermath of a session always left him a sobbing mess of blood, cuts, and bruises. Annetta comforted him as much as she was able as he wept, and reassured him that Havloh’s words about his sister abandoning him were not true. Annetta wasn’t sure how much he believed her, and during the night he called for his sister as he slept.

It was hard to make him believe such words, and especially as her own hope flickered like a candle flame in the wind. As the Russian broke their bodies and their spirits, both woman and child began to question the absence of their loved ones.

_‘Have I been forgotten?’_

~o~

_April 04, 1501_

Annetta hummed a soft, sad melody to the boy dozing in her arms that she vaguely remembered her own mother singing to her long ago. He was sporting several more cuts and bruises, but the most noticeable of all was the splint that held his arm immobile.

It had been broken by the sadistic Havloh during the boy’s last session with him, and she had gone to his side immediately as they dragged him in. She realized it was broken at the forearm as she noticed the weird angle it was in. The doctor would be there in an hour or two, but she wasn’t too sure. At times he didn’t come until the next day.

While they waited for the dottore, the same guards that always came after a session left them weak. It never failed, but she had usually distracted them until this point with herself. Annetta suffered greatly, but as long as she could keep them away from the child then she would bare it. However, today he was leaning heavily against her that she couldn’t stand to put herself between them and the boy.

The ten-year-old was yanked out of her arms as he cried out as his shoulder was jarred from the sudden movement. Annetta sprang to her feet to help him, but the other guard roughly shoved her and her head slammed into the unforgiving wall. Her eyesight dimmed and there was a ringing in her ears as she slumped against the hand holding her in place. Then the boy screamed and she lost all coherent thought.

The guard cursed as the woman suddenly became like a wild animal as she started hitting, kicking and scratching at any place she could reach of his body. She was almost feral, and it was further proved as she bit his hand as it wandered too close to her face. He removed his hand, but it proved to be a mistake as her body collided with his. Her legs wrapped around his waist and used her hands to beat his head and face.

He managed to throw her off and turned to flee, but she had the devil’s speed and felt her jump on his back this time. The man yelled as her sharp teeth clamped around his throat before she tore a piece of flesh away. His legs buckled and he collapsed as blood rushed to the surface and out of the wound despite his best efforts to staunch it. From where he landed at the woman’s feet, he could see his comrade was holding a dagger to the boy’s throat as he shouted something at her. It felt like he was listening to it from underwater or that perhaps that his ears were stuffed up, but couldn’t make out the words.

The woman; whose name they’d never bothered to learn, stepped forward and within his line of sight, and saw the dagger hidden behind her back. It took him a moment to realize that it was his, and that she had most likely stolen it while ripping his throat out. His eyesight may be failing him but he still recognized it, and even as he felt the darkness coming ever closer he tried to warn his companion but couldn’t get the words out.

As the last bit of life left him, he saw the other guard pull the dagger away from the sobbing boy’s neck as he gestured wildly from whatever he was shouting at her. The woman snapped her hand forward and the dagger embedded into his eye until it hit the back side of his skull. As his comrade dropped dead, the guard closed his eyes never to open them again.

When it was all over, Annetta ended up in the corner and the child’s arm dangled useless at his side as he cried into her neck. Of course he was scared of the way she had killed those men, but he was even more afraid of what they would have done to him if she hadn’t killed them. She stank of the blood that painted her front, and reeked of sweat and filth. Even then he burrowed closer to her warmth, since in this place, he felt the safest within her arms.

When the doctor finally came, Annetta begged him to give the boy something for the pain so he could sleep that night. She was sure the man in the plague mask was the same one that had been attending to her all the months that she had been imprisoned. The doctor had never spoken with her, or listened to her pleas for a relief from the pain. However, she had been shocked but grateful when he had injected the boy with a pain medicine that would knock him out at least until morning. All she had to give in return that time was to relinquish the dagger she held in a white-knuckled grip.

As they were left alone, Annetta smoothed his hair back away from his face as he lifted his gaze toward her. The medicine was already taking effect as he peered at her with eyes at half-mast, and he was no longer crying. “I’ll hum you a lullaby, bambino,” she whispered.

“Alessio,” he slurred.

Annetta blinked in confusion before she realized that this was his name. She smiled and petted his hair. “I’ll hum you a lullaby, Alessio.” She started humming and soon his eyes had fluttered closed in slumber.

~o~

_May 28, 1501_

As the days dragged like an eternity in that dark, dank place she noticed the significant change in the boy’s demeanor, and Annetta was worried. Alessio had been the more vocal of the two cell mates, and he would babble about his parents and whether they missed him. Mostly, he spoke of his sister with an awe of a child toward their hero or someone they greatly admired.

However, over the past month he had grown withdrawn and quiet, and wouldn’t speak of his sessions with Havloh. He had never spoken of them before either, but at least he had always come to her for comfort. Now he flinched at every noise he heard outside and inside the cell. It had gotten to the point that he even cringed away from her touch as well.

Annetta tried to get him to speak with her as he had once done, and she had tried to at least ease his fears and the psychological damage Havloh was inflicting on him. However, it was hard when she was just as damaged as or more so than he was. In the end, he didn’t respond to her.

In Annetta’s case, she had never really spoken too much, since she believed that they were always listening, and didn’t want to risk saying anything by mistake. Now, she found herself speaking to him throughout the day as she recounted the fairy tales that she could remember her mother telling her as a child, or exaggerated retellings of her few altercations with the guards in past years. She spoke so much that her throat started to hurt and then ran out of things to say, and still Alessio remained resolutely quiet.

She closed her eyes that night as she stared at his back where he lay curled in the fetal position. He was almost at arm’s length, but he had never been so far away before. “Don’t leave me alone in this nightmare,” she whispered last before closing her eyes that night.

When she woke the next morning, Alessio was gone.

~o~

_‘Don’t look, piccola...’_

_‘You leave yourself too open for an attack.’_

_‘If you’re not sure you can make it, then don’t try it.’_

_‘Annetta!’_

_‘The first time you take the leap, you feel as if your stomach is down in your ass, your heart is in your throat, and you’ve never felt more free in your whole life.’_

_‘Annetta!’_

_‘Don’t you have a date today?’_

_‘Annetta!’_

_‘If you’re lost, then you get to the tallest building and look around for any familiar landmarks.’_

_‘Annetta!’_

_‘Then again, your father is dead, and there are worse things than having me as one!’_

_**‘Annetta!’** _

She startled awake as a whimper escaped her mouth, her whole body aching, and there was a taste of blood and dirt in her mouth. It was dark; always so dark, but after several moments she was sure she was alone. Annetta hoped Alessio was alright wherever he was, and that he was still alive. She had tried to shield him as much as she could, but as the days passed with no sign of him Annetta began to think that maybe she hadn’t done enough to protect him.

Annetta closed her eyes and tried to remember the dream she’d been having. She had dreamed of Ciro and the life she had led with him, which now seemed almost a lifetime ago. It was those happy memories that kept her grounded whenever she felt she would give in to the pain, and she’d believe Havloh’s nasty words.

“He’s not coming for you,” the man had whispered in her ear two nights ago. His breath was foul and his hands were large and cruel, and he knew just the right place where to inflict the most pain. Annetta was his favorite among the rest that were trapped there with her, and she would hear them at night wailing or praying to a God that had forgotten them. As for Annetta, she would lay quietly in the dark and be grateful for the momentary reverie from the torture, and she’d cling desperately to her happy memories.

However, lately it was getting harder to remember Ciro’s face, his lessons, or the last time she had even so much as cracked a smile. Those memories would slip away from her one by one every day, week, and month she spent there. They came back to her in snatches in her dreams, so it kept her going because if she lost them completely, then she wasn’t sure she’d last much longer. That bastard could tell that she was floundering, and would taunt her with it as she struggled not to make a sound as he hurt her. In the end she would scream; she always screamed.

“You scream so beautifully,” Havloh would susurrate in her ear. It was all she could do to keep the revulsion from showing on her face, because instead of discouraging him, it only drove him further to touch her, to hurt her. Annetta tried to be like ice, and tucked all that was left of her deep in a dark corner of her heart.-


	23. The Edge of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long...long overdue. I hope it doesn't feel rushed, but I wanted to finally move away from this stressful, painful part of the story. Also, there’s more Russian in this and although it’s translated right away in the same paragraph, I still put the translations on the bottom to avoid any confusion. This chapter took so long because a lot of things happened. First, I got demoted, then I went on vacation (it was already planned in advanced), and the day after we got back my grandfather died. So, it’s been a harrowing two months, but I shall go onward!

**Chapter Twenty-three:** _The Edge of Night_

_April 07, 1501_

Vittorio coughed as entered through the door of the room they had assigned to him, roughly patting his clothing in an attempt to get the dust off that had gotten on them. They had returned to his childhood home in search of the information that the Brotherhood wanted to use against Rodrigo Borgia. It seemed that his father hadn’t been a criminal after all, and even if it didn’t change anything after all these years it had eased something in his chest knowing this. So, he had gone with two of the others accompanying him to his childhood home. It was the mute girl, Fabiola and the man that had been with her before; tall-and-attractive-guy. Vittorio hadn’t cared enough to ask his name, and the man hadn’t offered it either.

There had been eight years’ worth of dust covering every available surface, and there had been boards that had been placed over the door to keep people out. It hadn’t been difficult to get in and there had been no attack or ambush waiting for them. The thing that had been waiting for them was disappointment, since the hidden compartment hadn’t contained anything besides a few fiorini and spider webs. So, now here he was back in the Assassin Headquarters without knowing if he would still be allowed to join.

A knock interrupted his musings and he moved to the door to pull it open. It was tall-and-attractive-guy and in his hands he held a bundle of clothing. He arched a dark brown brow when Vittorio made no move to take them from him, so he simply tossed them at Vittorio before turning and walking down the hall. Vittorio had caught the clothes and then poked his head out, and was in time to see the man stop outside a room at the end of the hall on the other side. He knocked and it was opened by someone Vittorio couldn’t see before he entered.

Vittorio retreated into his own room after closing the door and looked at the clothing he had been given and realized that it was the same uniform the others wore. _‘So, that means I’m one of them,’_ he mused silently. He shrugged and tossed the clothing onto the bed.

As far as he could tell, there were already five recruits with him being the sixth. The silent Fabiola, tall-and-attractive-guy, mean-faced-girl, cheeky-grin-guy, and blue-eyed-girl. He didn’t know their names but suspected that he would soon enough. Vittorio wondered what their skill level was and found that he was a bit excited to find out.

The next morning he changed into the uniform, but as he was about to leave the room he paused as his hand lifted to his exposed face. He turned back to his dirty, bloodstained clothing and grabbed the mask he used to cover his face. For Vittorio it wasn’t a matter of being vain, but of trust. He didn’t know these people and the last person that he had allowed to see his face willingly had been Annetta. Ezio Auditore had seen it briefly in Vittorio’s grief before he had covered it up, thus not allowing either Fabiola or tall-and-attractive-guy to see. He would keep it that way, so they wouldn’t see the grief he was living with. Vittorio didn’t want their pity, and he didn’t want their friendship either.

Vittorio saw that the other five recruits were already in the dining hall when he arrived. He went to get some of the food that was laid out like a buffet, and sat away from the rest of them. At the other end of the table mean-faced-girl was eating her own breakfast and was blatantly ignoring cheeky-grin-guy as he animatedly chatted at her. Fabiola was, interestingly enough, feeding a boy of about three or four summers and an older woman at the child’s other side was alternating between eating and preventing him from knocking over his glass of unidentifiable liquid. In front of them, tall-and-attractive-guy was also eating as he watched Fabiola and the child with an adoring look. A few seats to his right the blue-eyed-girl was quietly eating and casting the four of them glances every few minutes. They all glanced at him briefly when he had entered, but then went back to what they were doing. Vittorio was fine with being ignored.

Vittorio had his back turned toward the rest of the room so nobody would see his face, so heard rather than saw as Ezio Auditore strolled into the dining room. When he pulled his mask back up and turned he saw that for once Ezio’s hood was down. The man had long dark brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and the scar on his mouth didn’t take away from his attractive features the way Vittorio’s scar did. _Lucky bastardo._

“Buongiorno, carino reclute!” he called cheerfully. Vittorio wasn’t the only one unimpressed by the man’s nickname for them. “I know that today some of you,” he glanced at mean-faced-girl, “were planning on spending the whole day training, but I have some assignments for you all today.” He pulled several pieces of parchments from a pouch secured at his belt. “Fabiola and Augusto,” he called, and Vittorio saw tall-and-attractive-guy stand along with Fabiola.

_So, his name is Augusto._

They went to accept their assignment while the older woman stayed with the child. “This will require a bit of information gathering, so use those friends of yours.” He grinned at them and placed his large hands on their heads as if they were two wayward children. “And be careful,” he muttered, ruffling their hair as Augusto squawked in protest while Fabiola huffed and batted at his hand. Both of them went over to kiss each of the child’s cheeks, and had a murmured conversation with the older woman (well, Augusto did and Fabiola merely gave a smile and a nod). Then they left the room.

“Bianca,” he barked next, and blue-eyed-girl surged to her feet. The man’s smile wasn’t as carefree with her as it had been with the other two, and Vittorio vaguely wondered at the reason. “I want you to go to the Rosa in Fiore.” The young woman stiffened and Ezio gave a grim smile. “They know the truth, but it might not make a difference.” He handed her the parchment, and a small pouch that jiggled. “There’s a herald in the area that needs to be...persuaded to change his mind on certain things. If bribery doesn’t work, well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” After a moment of hesitation, he also reached out and tugged gently at her hair. “Safety and peace.”

Bianca nodded curtly before moving around him and leaving the room.

“Desideria,” he called, and mean-faced-girl left her seat. They spoke in hushed tones for several moments before she nodded with a serious expression before leaving the room without a piece of parchment. Vittorio didn’t have a chance to ponder at this strange action before Ezio called his name as well as cheeky-grin-guy, whose name was Severino.

“There are reports that a few stands in the western part of Centro are being harassed by some guards. Take Vittorio with you and see if you can put a stop to it.” Ezio grinned as he glanced at Vittorio. “Inform me of Messere Vitelli’s skills at the end of the assignment.” Severino nodded as he took the parchment, which turned out to be a map of the area where they were going to assist the stand owners. 

As they left the safe house, Severino glanced at him as his eyes flittered up and down his body. “Are you any good and free-running?” he inquired with that cheeky grin. Vittorio gave him a baleful stare. “You know, I think you and Desi could be related.”

“I don’t have any relatives,” he dead-panned. He ran forward and scampered up the nearest wall with ease. “Are you coming?” he asked when the other man sighed at being stuck with another recruit with the same personality as Desideria.

“Si, si,” he grumbled, hurrying to catch up with him. Apparently, a single glance at the map had been enough for Vittorio to determine the correct direction to go.

~o~

_April 10, 1501_

During the months they had been in Roma, Ugo had acquired a few reliable informants that more often than not brought him good information. However, the last two leads hadn’t panned out, and they’d been ambushed. Also, they had been forced to flee their previous safe house after the Templars had tracked them down. Ugo didn’t want to start another fight with Ciro, but he suspected that maybe Ciro’s daughter had given them the information on their safe house. However, if they were compromised again then he would have no choice but to say something, even if he did wind up getting into a fist fight with Ciro. In the end, it all came down to Ghita’s safety, and that was one thing he was not willing to compromise on; not for Ciro, not his daughter, and certainly not even for his own sake.

Personally, Ugo would have already given the girl up as lost, and that continuing to search for her was what the enemy wanted. From the last attempt to seek her out, it was clear that they would soon succeed, and he could tell that Ciro was getting more desperate with each passing day. Ugo knew he would behave the same way if it had been Ghita that was missing, but knowing his style, he’d have cut a bloody swath through all of Roma by this point.

Ciro had seemed enthusiastic at first to have their help and had thrown himself with a zealous effort to try and find the girl. However, as the weeks and months passed with no sign of her, Ciro had grown grimmer and was constantly in a foul mood. Ugo and Ciro couldn’t even have a simple conversation without it coming to blows. The man would not eat more than two meals a day, sometimes less, and Ugo saw Ghita’s worry over the man’s well-being. He may have been hostile had it been anyone else, but Ciro looked at Ghita with a fondness that he had often seen in Fedele’s eyes when he looked at his daughter. Also, though he snapped at Ugo, Ciro directed none of his anger toward Ghita, and knew that it was most likely because she was around the same age as his own daughter.

Ugo had no idea what kind of person this woman they were searching for was like, and the only thing that Ciro had told them was her name; Annetta. They assumed that it had to be Annetta Petaccia, but then again, Ugo wasn’t too sure. The reason he doubted Ciro’s parentage of Annetta was because the things that Ghita had gleaned from conversations with the man. When the subject of her training had been breached, the man’s answer had been a bit sketchy and he had said that he had only been able to start training her when she was at least fourteen and she had finally trusted him enough. Ugo wondered why the girl hadn’t trusted him in the first place, and the idea that Ciro wasn’t really her father had entered his head.

“Maybe it would have been better not to involve her in my life from the beginning, but how could I leave her?” he had murmured one night. Ugo had overheard this particular conversation while feigning sleep, curled in the corner by the fire pit that night.

“Leave her where?” Ghita had asked softly, head tilted in curiosity.

Ciro had lifted his gaze, the firelight making ominous shadows on the planes of his face as he gave the young woman a melancholy smile. “It’s getting late,” he sighed, standing with a groan. “You should get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

They had started to have one of them keeping watch to make sure they weren’t ambushed during the night. It had happened once, but they had managed to escape with their lives by the skin of their teeth due to Ugo having awoken during the night to take a piss. So, now one of them kept an eye, taking to the roof so they’d be able to see someone coming from any direction, and it was shifts of three so each of them got at least six hours of sleep. However, it didn’t matter if Ciro had first, second, or third shift; he was up just before dawn.

Ugo breathed against his fingers, since they had started to go numb. There was still the bite of winter in the morning and when the sun was absent from the sky the nights were cold. He glanced at the ladder as he heard the unmistakable creak as someone ascended it. A moment later Ugo saw Ciro’s head appear followed by the rest of him. Neither man acknowledged one another as Ugo stayed where he was, sitting on top of the rooftop garden while Ciro went toward the edge of the roof that faced the east. It was almost half an hour later that the sun rose and the first light flooded over the city of Roma.

~o~

Ciro had always enjoyed watching the sunrise, and he was always up when the sky was at its darkest. This had been the norm for him for so many years that even with Annetta not with him, he couldn’t resist it and his internal alarm woke him up at the same time every morning. These days he didn’t look at it with the feeling of accomplishment of having survived another day as he once did. Now, he felt like the most wretched being in existence, since it was another day that he had not found Annetta. It was another day where she suffered, and one more day that he failed to protect her.

The thief tried not to sink into self-pity, since it was Annetta that was suffering the consequences of his past. The worst part was that he wasn’t completely sure that it was the Templars that had truly taken her, and with every failed lead his doubt increased. After all, Niccolo had most likely seen Annetta that cursed day after he’d seen him steal Ezio Auditore’s money pouch.

A sneer lifted his lips as he remembered the would-be Assassin that had tackled him, and wondered if he shouldn’t have just killed him then and there to ensure Annetta’s safety beforehand. It would have been easy to slay the last Auditore male when he had tackled Ciro, but two reasons had stopped him that day. First, was because after all these years he still thought of the Assassins as his brothers even when they would sooner hunt him down like a dog than welcome him back. The second and most important reason was that he had known that Annetta had been following the chase from the rooftops and would have seen everything what transpired. Ciro had never shed blood in front of her before, and only thing that would make him do it was if it were to save her life and he had no other choice.

Oh, Ciro knew that she was no innocent virgin, and that more than kissing and hand-holding had been involved with that thief from his brother’s flock. Ciro could admit with no shame that he had wanted to strangle that figlio di puttana until he stopped breathing, and only Annetta’s happy face had stopped him. She had clearly been smitten with him from almost the moment they had met, and Ciro didn’t oppose it since he had never seen her that happy.

However, everything had changed the day they had to flee that safe house, which he admitted he had stayed at longer than was wise due to her. If that bastardo made her smile than he was willing to stay even if they had to be three times more careful. After they had to leave, his surrogate daughter had stopped her solo adventures, and that happiness he had witnessed had dimmed into sorrow. He mourned the pain she was experimenting because even when he’d been angry that the foolish romance had distracted her from their work; it hadn’t mattered. Then one day everything changed.

At the time, he had noticed that Annetta had become standoffish as time went by and the smile had turned into more of a grimace. When he had seen her eyes red and puffy from having been crying, Ciro had felt blood lust and had resolved to murder that no-good thief. It was only the incident with Niccolo that had stopped him from following Annetta to their next meeting and slaughtering the scum.

After Annetta had gone missing, Ciro had gone to where he knew his brother and his small flock had been in Antico district. Ciro had despaired to discover they had moved and he had no way of finding them. The thief knew that the Thieves’ Guild had been scattered and weak, and especially after Rodrigo Borgia had become Pope and Roma had fallen into Templar control. So, he couldn’t blame Mario for constantly moving to protect his sons, but Ciro couldn’t help but curse it at the time. He suspected Mario had most likely moved his small flock to La Volpe Addormentata, however, he wouldn’t dare go seek him. It was doubtful Ciro would make it back out alive, and he needed to stay alive to save Annetta.

Ciro knew that his plan wouldn’t have worked either way, since he had gone to speak with the thief that Annetta had a love affair with. After all, it seemed their relationship had ended on bad terms, but at the time he had been desperate. He had to relocate afterwards since he had spotted a lone guard in the vicinity, and Ciro wasn’t sure if it was one of Machiavelli’s informants. Ciro was sure he hadn’t been followed, but had grabbed the already prepared knap sacks (one was his and the other was Annetta’s), and had fled into Centro.

Of course, he had been worried that if she somehow managed to escape that she would go to the last safe house they had been in. It was doubtful, since he had trained Annetta better than to let herself get compromised so easily.

~o~

_May 28, 1501_

The first clothing that Annetta had been caught in had been cut from her body three days after she was captured. After her failed attempt at escaping she was moved to a different location and given clothing that were already little more than rags. Those soon became covered both in dirt and blood. The only kind of bath she received was a dousing with buckets of cold water just before she was dragged off to see Havloh. Afterwards she became filthy no matter how hard she tried to stay clean. The prison floor was hard-packed dirt instead of stone, so it was difficult. Also, the dottore had to work extra hard to keep wounds from getting dirt in them and becoming infected.

When the clothes she’d been wearing had quite literally fallen apart, they had actually given her more clothing instead of leaving her naked. Although, the dress they had presented her with looked more like a potato sack than any kind of clothing. She had no type of undergarments, and most days she felt ashamed of how she looked even if she couldn’t really look at herself. However, Annetta was sure she resembled little more than a mutt. It was possible she barely looked human anymore.

Her hair had grown and been cut many times over in the last few months, and it had started to grow out again so they’d butchered it just the other day. It stuck out in short, uneven strands that were dirty and matted with dirt, blood and other substances that she would rather not think about. Annetta was sure there was a pungent odor coming off her, and the rest of her body, hands and face were equally filthy, and she felt disgust at her own state; the state they had her in.

A sigh left her chapped lips and looked down as she saw the dark streak of blood that went down her inner thigh. The sons of bitches had made her bleed again, but they hadn’t cared or stopped either. She had nothing to wipe herself off since the piece of cloth she was wearing was perhaps dirtier than she was. Annetta knew that her improvised bath was still days away, and the only water she had was the one they gave her to drink. It wasn’t a choice, since it was little more than a cup every three days and she didn’t want to waste any of it to wash herself. She guessed she’d have to remain as she was.

She couldn’t reach the bars, so stealing anything from the guard’s pouches was out of the question. If only she wasn’t chained to the wall then Annetta was sure she would have escaped by now. Although, she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to leave without finding Alessio, but by this point it was very unlikely the ten-year-old was still alive, but it was painful to think that way. However, her time spent in captivity had turned her into somewhat of a pessimist, and thus despite her breaking heart, she was quite certain that Alessio was dead.

Annetta’s thought process was interrupted by a door slamming close-by, and then she heard footsteps approaching. She crouched down against the wall, huddling into the corner as she waited. The young woman was surprised when she saw Havloh stride into view. As always, the man’s clothes were fine and impeccable, and he held himself rigid as he waited for the guards to open the door. Annetta was wary as she met his cold, blue eyes over the distance, and tensed as the door opened. It was still at least three days left until their ‘special time’; as the bastardo called it, and his sudden appearance had her worried.

“Выглядит вы видели призрак, Мало Воробья,” he purred maliciously as he clasped his hands behind his back. _Looks like you’ve seen a ghost, little sparrow._ Indeed, he was a specter that haunted her worst nightmares, and was a flesh and blood horror. Her living nightmare.

The door opened with an ominous creak as he strode toward her. She lunged forward with violent intent to harm him, but the chain pulled taunt and she wasn’t able to touch him.

“Вы находитесь слишком далеко, прекрасный,” he sneered. _You are too far, gorgeous._ He took a step back and motioned to the two guards flanking him as they surged forward.

She yelped and backpedaled, but it was no use as they seized her arms. She tried to kick the third guard that came to unchain her from the wall, but she simply had no strength and they dragged her kicking and screaming out of the prison cell. She whimpered as one of them drove his fist into her belly to get her to cease her struggles, but she refused to go willingly to what might surely be her death. Perhaps Havloh had finally gotten fed up with her continued silence, and she had a moment of panic where she considered telling him everything she could. Then again, what did she really know anymore? It had been months, a lifetime really, and Ciro would have relocated anywhere in Roma, or left Roma completely. It depressed her to think of such things, but it became more and more clear every day. Ciro wasn’t coming.

Annetta was alone with nothing to bargain with anymore. She was going to die.

“Please,” she whispered the prayer fervently, hoping for salvation. Annetta knew there was nobody coming. The abused young woman had gotten the hope beaten and raped out of her, and had nothing left. Most days it felt like a black hole was in the middle of her chest where she was sure her heart had been at one point. Now, she was empty inside.

Soon, Annetta’s struggles ceased, and she slumped in their hold in exhaustion. They dragged her through the dark hallway that was lit by a torch every now and then. Annetta always screwed her eyes shut, since the light was too much for her eyes that had grown accustomed to the dark. Then she noticed more light at the end of the hallway when they turned the next corner. They were steadily dragging her closer, and soon Annetta realized that it wasn’t torchlight. It was sunlight.

Sunlight.

For the first time Annetta was excited about where they were taking her. They were taking her outside. They were taking her to where there was fresh air, and the sky. The glorious sky, which she hadn’t seen it what seemed like years and years. Suddenly, it didn’t matter if they were going outside to execute her. All that mattered was that at least she would get to see the sky one last time before she died.

The difference between the dark and damp cell was a sharp contrast, and her eyes stung even with the poor light as dawn approached. Annetta barely had any strength since they forgot to feed her at times, and her earlier struggle had weakened her. The two guards dragging her along didn’t speak to her or even glance at her, and their hold was sure to leave bruises on her already marred skin.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the poor light, she saw that it was some kind of compound, and wondered if this was the same place they’d had her in all this time. Annetta wasn’t sure of much these days, but she concentrated on trying to take in everything at once. This is the first time since she’d almost escaped that she had been allowed outside. The air felt different out here and she took in a deep breath, and the heady aroma of wild flowers filled her nose. That’s when she realized that it was the beginning of Spring, since there was still the harsh bite of Winter in the mornings.

_A year._

It had been hard to keep track of time, but she remembered clear as day when they had taken her. The flowers were in full bloom in the fields, and the piazza della Rotonda had been filled with the rain of pink flower petals. Those flower petals had been her downfall, but even then she mourned their loss, since it was something that had kept her from losing hope for so many years. It was something that the Borgia had taken from her as well as her father, and if she survived this then she would dedicate the rest of her existence to putting a stop to that family’s corruption.

Although, she knew that she wouldn’t survive. The promise that she had once made to Pietro now seemed like empty words, and knew that there would be no escape, no revenge, and no salvation.

Annetta gasped as she was jostled out of her memories, and she was thrown down to the ground besides a stake in the ground. The two guards proceeded to tie her up, and she had no strength to struggle. Havloh stood just within her line of sight, watching as they tied her, pulling her hands so far back that her shoulders and arms ached but she didn’t even bother to wince. The man’s lips were pulled up to flash his teeth, and she recognized it as his triumphant grin but it confused her.

That man had driven her to the limits of her sanity, and despite the torture and the horrors she’d been forced to witness, she hadn’t told him anything. At least, not anything they wanted to know, and any information would lead them to a dead end. Of course, she had known she would suffer for it, and suffer she did. Now she began to wonder if it had truly been worth it as she hung her head to get away from that gleam in his eyes. She wouldn’t put it past him to kick her while she was already down, so she avoided meeting his gaze.

Havloh crouched in front of her and she felt his fingers grab her by the hair to jerk her head up to look at him. “Спросите меня запасные вашей жизни,” he whispered, hot breath fanning over her face. _Ask me to spare your life._ Annetta felt disgust as he came close enough that his lips brushed against hers. “Бег для меня.” _Beg for me._ He nudged her slightly with his forehead and he was being almost gentle, but she knew him better than that. Havloh only ever did anything to inflict pain and humiliate her, and if she was going to die either way then she would see that smirk wiped off his face. Even if it would all be worthless, Annetta wanted to see him livid to realize that he hadn’t broken her. A tiny spark of defiance flared up inside her.

“Иди к черту!” she snarled. _Go to hell!_ Even if she was parched --they had spilled her water as they’d dragged her from the prison cell-- Annetta mustered as much spittle as she could before spitting in his face. 

Havloh’s face had gone cold and the hold on her hair grew so tight that she felt some of the strands being ripped out. She met his cold fury with a defiant look. “Do you still honestly believe that he’s coming for you?” he asked her tauntingly, switching back to Italian. His lips lifted into that triumphant smile as her eyes widened. “You’ll never be as important as his real children.”

Annetta’s face went slack with shock as her lips parted in a gasp. _‘Children?’_ She hadn’t known that Ciro had children.

“Oh, you didn’t know that?” he asked with a laugh. His hand had stopped pulling her hair and now his fingers ran through her short strands almost lovingly. “He had a son...and a daughter he loved very much.” Havloh leaned over to whisper in her ear. “And he still loves them, and he would have torn Roma apart to find _them_.” He chuckled even as Annetta’s heart broke in her chest. “A person might wonder why he hasn’t come for you if he loves you.”

Havloh leaned back to look into her stricken face, knowing he may have finally broken her. “Он тебя не любит,” he purred like a lover, pressing a kiss to her unmoving lips. _He does not love you._ Havloh stood with a grin stretching across his face at the heartbreaking scene she made tied to the post as he spied several tears spill down her cheeks. “Он никогда не любил тебя.” As he turned and walked away he heard a sob tear from her throat.

_He never loved you._

~o~

Ghita yawned as she sat up from the mattress she had slept in the night before, noticing right away that Ugo was not in the room and neither was Ciro. After a moment she heard raised voices from the other room and quickly stood and hurried over. When she got there it was to see that Ciro and Ugo were arguing over a piece of parchment.

“It could be a trap!” Ugo growled at the older man. Ghita could tell that he was highly agitated, and it was almost like his hair was conveying his feelings since it was sticking up even more than ever.

Ciro had resorted to pacing in his anger. “I’m not waiting this time!” he shouted back, pausing long enough to yell before going back to pacing like a caged tiger. “There’s no argument that’s going to stop me; not this time!”

Ugo’s fingers grabbed at his hair, and Ghita realized he’d been doing it during their altercation so it explained his spiky hairdo. “Stop and think for a moment! If you get yourself killed, then where will your daughter be? Neither Ghita or I know her face! She’d be lost and all this will be for naught!”

Ghita chose that moment to step further into the room and directly in Ciro’s path, causing both men to look at her. “I agree with Ugo, Ciro,” she said calmly. The last thing she needed was for them to get into another fist fight. Ciro’s eye had swollen shut, and Ugo’s lip had split so bad it had needed stitches after their last fight. “Then again,” she interrupted before either could say anything. “We should also see if Annetta is really there.”

Ciro grunted and turned away, but he hadn’t started to pace again which was a good sign. When the pacing started it was only a matter of time before punches were thrown. “It’s not a lead to Annetta’s location.”

The young woman blinked in confusion. “It’s not? Then whose location?”

Ugo’s lips twisted as if he’d sucked on a lemon. “Havloh Jäger’s location.” Ghita must have looked confused because he started to explain. “He’s a specialist in torture, and the man that Ciro suspects might have taken Annetta. A sadistic figlio di puttana.”

Ghita’s face twisted in horror at imagining the young woman at this person’s mercy. “So, why are you shouting?” she demanded, referring to their arguing. 

Ugo sighed and motioned to the sheet of parchment that Ciro was holding in his hand. “It was delivered to one of my informants who had been instructed to give it to Ciro Petaccia.” This whole situation was making Ugo nervous, and he wanted to leave. The man had already packed while he’d been having the shouting match with Ciro. Now, all he had to do was convince the older man to leave. If he didn’t want to leave then Ugo _would_ , and take Ghita with him.

After hearing how the missive had arrived, Ghita nodded. “Well, it’s obviously a trap.” Ugo glanced at Ciro with no hint of smugness as he waited for his reaction, and sighed in exasperation when Ciro shook his head. “What’s the matter, Ciro?” she asked gently, keeping her voice free of accusation. If he felt like they were both attacking him then it was likely that he would run off on his own and get himself killed.

Ciro glanced at Ugo with an agitated look, and the other man snorted before storming out of the room. Now that Ugo had left, Ghita approached Ciro more calmly, and with a bit of coaxing he started talking. “It’s been a year,” he stressed as he sat on one of the crates they’d been using as chairs. “A whole year and there’s no sign of her.” Ciro buried his face in his hands, and Ghita’s heart broke at how defeated he looked in that moment. “What if she’s-”

Ghita had sat down on the nearest crate and now slowly pulled his hands away. “Don’t do that,” she softly chastised him. “Don’t lose hope. I’m sure Annetta wouldn’t want you to fall into despair.” Ghita took it as a good sign when he sighed, and he turned his hands to grasp both of hers before lifting them to press a kiss to the back of each one.

“You’re a good girl, Ghita.” He stood and released hers hands. “So, what’s the plan?”

Ugo chose that moment to walk in, hearing Ciro’s statement. “It’s about time you saw reason!” Ghita surged to her feet to stop Ciro from drawing one of his throwing knives. Ugo just laughed.

~o~

Annetta lifted her tear stained face, spent both physically and emotionally. Havloh had left her strapped to the post there as the sun rose higher into the sky, and the back of her neck and any exposed part of her skin felt like it was on fire. Also, she was so hungry and thirsty that she felt nausea coiling in her stomach from the intensity of it. It would have been a blessing to pass out but the sun was so bright that even closing her eyes didn’t help to block out its light.

As it was nearing afternoon and the intensity of the heat was lessening, she was finally able to glance around and take in her surroundings. A four man patrol was making its rounds just inside the wall that wasn’t too high, and a brute and two other guards were guarding the entrance. Her eyes moved sluggishly to the far left and could just make out a rifleman positioned on the roof. He wasn’t the only one, since the young woman could see three more from her position if she craned her neck. They were located high so they’d see anyone trying to sneak up on the compound, and that’s when she realized something. Ciro had found her and they knew it, so...this was a trap for him!

Annetta had realized months ago that the Il Solitario Assassino and Ciro was the same person. When she had found that out, she had been even more determined not to say anything about him or his whereabouts. Now, she felt herself seized by a sense of terror and panic before she violently shoved it down. She was in the hands of the enemy and had been for a long time, and if she was being used as bait, then that meant Ciro knew she was here and they were waiting.

She had never known all these months why they wanted Ciro, and the guards didn’t know anything either. They were worse gossips than some women at times, and she had thought that if she pretended to be asleep she might hear something. The guards tended to talk more freely around the prisoners, but she hadn’t heard a single thing.

Annetta knew they planned to leave her here all day with no water, and it would be torture since the days were starting to get hotter. She didn’t know if the sadistic bastardi planned to leave her during the night, but she had a sinking feeling that they would.

It still got cold during the night and without a blanket the sweat covering her body from the day would cause her to freeze. The only thing that comforted her was that Ciro was unlikely to fall into the trap like some wet behind the ears novice. He wouldn’t come for her alone and risk being caught.

Although, Annetta wondered who would help him.

~o~

_May 29, 1501_

In the end, it was an ambush. However, with the help from a hired group of mercenaries they were able to subdue the soldiers that had been waiting for Ciro to show up alone. If it had been a story, the fight between Ciro and Havloh would have been quick and anticlimactic, since Havloh’s inexperience was no match for Ciro's skills. As the man lay dying, they were both surprised at Ciro’s self-control in asking for Annetta’s whereabouts. Although, it seemed that Havloh had a few choice words to say to his ex-brother-in-law first.

“You’re the reason Paula is dead,” Havloh wheezed, his hand pressed to the wound at his side. “You had her under some kind of sorcery. She refused to leave you or those little monsters.” He lifted eyes that were almost identical to his deceased half-sister. “You turned her against me, and I had no choice.”

Ciro’s face was horrified as he looked down at the man; a man that had just confessed the unthinkable. “You killed them,” he choked. He was frozen in place by the revelation, or else he would have already struck out at Havloh.

The Templar smiled grimly at the man he hated with every fiber of his being. “No, _you_ killed them, Assassin-scum! You turned her against me!” Havloh coughed as blood bubbled up to his lips and stained his chin a dark red. “My beautiful Paula. You never deserved her, and I made sure your Assassin brothers thought you were a traitor. So, I could later hunt you down and take away anyone else you may love from you.”

The malicious smile he gave was enough to chill Ciro to his very core. “I certainly enjoyed breaking the via ratto you took under your wing, and even more when I found out she was a woman.”

Ciro roared in anger and Ugo had to rush forward to stop him from killing Havloh in an uncontrolled rage. Havloh was laughing and Ugo thought he wouldn’t be able to keep a hold of him, but Ghita stepped in front of Ciro as she blocked Havloh from his view. “Calm down!” she snapped. The wild look in Ciro’s eyes faded slightly as he tried to concentrate on Ghita and her words. “Now, find out where your daughter is.”

He took in a deep breath and when she thought he had calmed down sufficiently, Ghita nodded at Ugo and he finally released Ciro. “Where is she?” he demanded.

Havloh would tell Ciro where he had her, so he knew before he died that Ciro would see what had become of Annetta; what Havloh had done to her. At this point, Ciro was mostly grateful that she was still alive, and he would deal with everything else _after_ he had rescued her.

~o~

_May 30, 1501_

By the third morning she was delirious with a fever and her shivering was only getting worse as the day ran on and then the sun began to set on the third freezing night. Annetta had been counting the coming and going of each guard during every shift and had determined that there were eleven in the area at one given time except during shift change. The day patrol consisted of the four men that passed close to her location once every half an hour. She had tried to get the pattern of the riflemen’s movements, but in two days only the one guarding at the East had kept a consistent routine. The one at the West always seemed to have ants in his pants with how much he moved back and forth, and the one at the North was always watching the stars instead of looking for anyone that was approaching. There was a drop into the valley below toward the West, so the rifleman looked only into the camp and not behind him but he moved constantly. She knew that Ciro could somehow come from that direction. Annetta was sure of it.

The patrol wasn’t too hard to track, and could easily be eliminated one by one. It was the Brute that guarded the entrance that would present a problem. The armor was hard to get through unless one got close enough that it would be considered suicide. Annetta certainly couldn’t hope to fight anyone in the state she was in, and knew that her only chance of surviving was Ciro. However, as the months had passed with no sight of the thief, she had begun to lose hope. It was even now hanging by a thin thread, and the night was starting to get colder and it felt unbearable on her heated flesh.

Perhaps he had given up on her after so many months, or maybe Ciro was already dead.

~o~

Ciro crouched next to the wall close to the cliff that dropped down to the valley below some twenty or twenty-five feet. The wall would likely come up to about his waist if he was standing, and during the day it would have been impossible to sneak up to the compound. This is the reason he knew that it had to be night when he tried the rescue, and it had to be tonight. It was likely that the Havloh’s death would soon reach the enemy’s ears and then it was likely they would either kill Annetta or have her moved. So, he was working on a time limit.

His target was the Rifleman on the Western side of the compound after his observation earlier in the day. The man had resorted to climbing a nearby structure and from there he had taken in the guards placements, the patrol’s movements and the Rifleman posted at each point of the compound; North, South, East and West. Afterwards he had done a leap of faith like the old days and the task had come to him as easy as breathing.

Once he disabled the Rifleman on the Western front, he would don his armor and take out the closest Rifleman, using throwing knives to kill another while they were distracted. The one closest to the entrance would be out of his range but he would concentrate on that later. He would be able to fight against the other six opponents and systematically take them out one by one. However, the brute would likely give him trouble.

Ciro was no push-over, but he would admit that he wouldn’t easily be able to win against the behemoth; if at all. Ugo would possibly have a better chance than he did since he was bulkier, and was stronger than Ciro. Well, Ugo wasn’t here and there was no time to ponder on what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Ugo had made his choice and Ciro had made his.

Ugo hadn’t wanted to go in without further assistance, and Ciro had be adamant about not waiting and having Annetta’s captors find out about Havloh’s death. Ugo had argued that he could ask the Assassins for help, and Ugo and Ghita would tell them what they had heard from Havloh. Ciro had insisted that Niccolo wouldn’t hear a thing on the matter and would likely have him killed as soon as he stepped foot within Isola Tiberina. After all, he may have been exiled but he wasn’t dead. He knew where Ezio Auditore had set up his headquarters, but he had been too busy trying to find Annetta to really give the Assassin’s location any thought. Ultimately, Ghita hadn’t been able to calm them down this time and Ciro had stormed off.

He was no fool and knew that Ugo would still send them a message, but Ciro doubted they’d go there personally. After all, they had aided Ciro and would thus be considered enemies of the Brotherhood if the Assassins found out. Ciro knew that Ugo had planned to join with them at a later time after they had helped Ciro rescue Annetta. It was better that they had broken off ties now.

Ciro glanced at the edge of the cliff with grim determination. It was time. The man slunk off, staying low to the ground before disappearing into the darkness.

~o~

It was the middle of the night when she noticed that something was amiss, but her eyes felt heavy and her whole body ached. Annetta heard it muffled at first and she forced her eyes open, and the first thing she noticed was that a thick, heavy mist had rolled in around the compound that should have been dark, but there was a lot of light behind her. It took Annetta a moment to detect the acidic stench of fire, and knew then that the building behind her was on fire.

She lifted her gaze as the sound of metal against metal was heard, and the young woman was confused to see someone standing in front of her. It was one of the Rifleman, and he was surrounded by a Brute and two of the patrol and another Rifleman. The firelight made the men’s shadows stretch away from them to make giants, and the thick mist swirled around their legs every time they moved.

The mist was thickening and growing dense as it blanketed the world around them, and she was so delirious by that point that to her it seemed to have a life of its own as it danced playfully around her frame before settling like a heavy blanket over her. Annetta wasn’t sure what was happening or why the others were attacking one of their own, and her eyes were threatening to close into an exhausted slumber. Then the Rifleman barely ducked under the swipe of a sword and his helmet was knocked off to show familiar features. It was Ciro.

She jolted into awareness and surged forward, but she was stopped by the rope that secured her wrists to the stake, and her throat was too parched to say anything. _‘Ciro! Oh, Ciro!’_ she mentally cried out for him as he fought the enemy. _‘You came for me!’_ Annetta had despaired at the thought of never seeing him again, or that he had given up on her. She felt tears fill her eyes in happiness to realize that she had been a fool to think that Ciro would have abandoned her.

Ciro grunted as one of the men’s swords nicked his upper arm and Annetta gasped in horror. _‘Ciro!’_ She struggled against the rope holding her back from helping him, but she doubted she’d be much help to him in the state she was in. Even then, she started back on trying to loosen the rope holding her in place. Annetta had tried to wiggle free while nobody had been looking at her, and at first it had been impossibly tight and her struggling had only amounted to sore and bruised wrists. She’d been working on it for three days and only managed to loosen it the tiniest bit, and now she started anew. The young woman was terrified that her struggles would be in vain, and with every dodge Ciro was forced to make, she pulled harder until her skin started to blister from rope burn. She could feel parts of her skin coming clean off, but she refused to desist.

Ciro finally managed to bring down the Brute that had been giving him the most trouble, but another took advantage of his fatigue as he stumbled back. Ciro grunted as one of their swords impaled him through his stomach and he coughed up a dark red blood onto the man’s shoulder. The female thief had finally pulled one of her wrists free, but now she froze as she stared up at Ciro as her tears spilled down her dirty cheeks and found that she couldn’t breathe. Ciro turned to look at her with eyes filled with resignation, and then the guard yanked out the sword and he collapsed to his knees in front of her.

She reached toward him as Ciro leaned heavily on his sword impaled into the ground beside him, but her other wrist still tied to the stake and held her in place. The other two guards stepped aside as the Rifleman took aim to execute him, and she managed to get her aching throat to work. “Ciro!” she screamed hoarsely. The guards laughed as the Rifleman cocked the hammer back on the rifle.

Suddenly, figures appeared like specters from the mist, and one dropped the body of the Rifleman with the squelch of metal cutting through flesh. The other two guards turned around in confusion, and two more of the figures dressed in black impaled a blade coming out of the bracers into their throats. Their eyes widened in shock and pain before their attackers guided them to the ground, and they were dead when their eyes were closed for them.

Ciro had crumpled back and his head landed in her lap, and Annetta used her free arm to hug his head. “No, please,” she sobbed despite the raw feeling of her throat. “Don’t leave me.”

The man grinned past a mouth full of blood, and lifted a blood stained hand to cup her cheek. “Never,” he whispered. His fingers stained her cheek as they caressed her face. “I just found you.” His arm fell back to his side, and she watched the light fade from his eyes as he stared up at her, and Annetta felt like she was thirteen years old again watching her father die.

Annetta was numb as the figures moved toward her now, and she vaguely wondered if they were going to kill her as well. She hoped they would so she could be with Ciro, and waited for death to come. Annetta was so very tired.

Instead of death, she felt someone cut away the rope holding her other arm in place and she immediately started to crumple over Ciro. However, a pair of hands held her back that were neither rough or threatening, but they were firm as they guided her to sit back against the stake that had restrained her up until that point.

Annetta felt a jolt of pain shoot through her left wrist as those same hands lifted it up, and she finally turned to look at the unknown person helping her. She found herself staring into a pair of intense blue eyes that were set in a fair face. It was a young woman roughly the same age as her, or possibly younger, and she was wearing a tunic that was trimmed in black.

She was saying something, but Annetta couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. Her hands were wrapping bandages around Annetta’s wrist to immobilize it. As she leaned forward some of the other woman’s hair spilled out of her hood, and it was almost the same shade and length that hers had been a long time ago. It wasn’t as important as it had been when they’d first cut it, but the reminder was too much for her. Annetta couldn’t hold back the sob that slipped past her cracked and bloody lips, and a moment later the strange woman wrapped her arms around her frail body and let her mourn.

Annetta grieved all the pain and suffering she had endured, for Vittorio and her hair, but most of all, she mourned for Ciro and for never having called the man father. The young woman sobbed until her mind was numb and was little more than dead weight in the arms of an attractive man that carried her away from the body of the man she had come to love as her father.

~o~

Vittorio glanced up as the main door banged open, and Augusto walked in with a small bundle in his arms. The man glanced momentarily at him in acknowledgement before continuing on his way past the masked recruit. Meanwhile, Vittorio was left wondering what the hell had happened while he’d been on his assignment. A moment later Bianca hurried after Augusto, and didn’t even bother to glance in Vittorio’s direction.

The young woman was usually polite to the point of frigid, so the situation had to be dire if she hadn’t even given him a greeting. Fabiola came through the door next, and Vittorio glanced at her with a smirk that couldn’t be seen due to his mask. “You mind telling me what’s happening?” he asked her, even knowing she didn’t speak.

Fabiola made a few signs with her hands that left him baffled before she returned his smirk and followed Augusto and Bianca. “Well, okay then,” he muttered. He sighed and shrugged. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me anyways.” He headed toward the dining hall to see if there was anything left to eat.

~o~

Annetta was too weak to protest as the other woman had removed her filthy rags, wincing in pain since some of her scabs had healed against the cloth. Her exhaustion was so overwhelming that that when she heard the second female gasp she couldn’t even lift her head, but from where she lay she could saw wide blue eyes staring at her in slight disbelief.

“Please, do not speak of it to anyone,” Annetta panted when she realized that her shirt was hanging open and the other woman could see her breasts. She lifted a shaking hand to cover her body and the scars --some old and other more recent-- that her imprisonment had left behind. “Don’t tell them.”

The medical practitioner hesitated as she eyed Annetta warily who struggled to straighten into a sitting position. She had thought that the person they had rescued was an adolescent boy, and had never expected it to be a young woman. Bianca could see it now as she observed her features carefully with this new information, but Bianca couldn’t tell how old she was and dressed as a boy, she looked at least fifteen. “I can’t possibly hide this from the Maestro,” she told her firmly. Annetta’s face contorted into a look of grief, and hurried to reassure her. “But I shall tell no one else.”

She sagged in relief at her words and the other woman surged forward as she crumpled like a doll with its strings cut. “I have you,” she murmured quietly as if speaking with a child. For the next half hour, Bianca removed the rest of the filthy clothing that the other woman wore and cleaned up her wounds and patched her up. She paused as she came to her groin area, and she felt nausea coil in her stomach as her hands clenched into fists so tightly that her nails threatened to draw blood.

Bianca’s eyes lifted and met the other’s lifeless black orbs over the distance. She was shaken at the utter lack of...anything in that gaze. Despite the fever that was ravaging her body, the female’s gaze wasn’t unfocused or confused. It was simply dead.

She tried to smile reassuringly to which the other merely tilted her head in bemusement. Bianca simply finished washing her up and then dressed her in a nightgown. It was neither meant for a man nor a woman, but her breasts were small enough that they wouldn’t need to be bound to be hidden with this on.

When she was done with that, Bianca lifted Annetta as she secured the other female against her side, and brought the bowl of soup to her trembling lips. From the moment she had first lifted her up close, her whole body had stiffened defensively, and Bianca was sure that if she had the strength then she would have fought against the hold.

After taking a few hesitant sips, Annetta licked her lips and lifted her gaze to her. “What’s your name?” Annetta asked the blue eyed woman. Her hands were not like the doctor in the plague mask that had patched up the injuries caused by Havloh. She was gentle, as if not wanting to cause her anymore pain than what she had already experienced. Despite her mind screaming at her _‘Touching me! Don’t trust her! Don’t trust anyone! Claw! Kill!’_ Annetta had no more strength to fight. She was boneless in Bianca’s arms, but not because she trusted her. Annetta wasn’t sure she would ever trust anyone again.

“Bianca,” she told her, her husky voice like velvet and felt like she could be lulled to sleep by it. Annetta felt her eyes closing of their own accord even now as she continued to speak to her. “What is your name?” The other woman was warm and if Annetta closed her eyes she could almost remember her mother’s arms, who had been dead for fourteen years now.

“Yeoman,” she whispered. Yeoman was broken and bleeding, but it was safer to be Yeoman. Annetta was an innocent little girl with ribbons in her hair, and not a single care in the world. She was unhurt and pure, and tucked into the tiny corner where she had shoved her last shreds of hope and love in an effort to spare them from that monster. Yes, she would be Yeoman and let Annetta remain safe and asleep.

Bianca tried to bring the bowl to her lips once more, but realized that the other female had drifted off. She set the bowl of soup aside and lowered her back onto the bed. When Bianca tried to pull away a kneeing wail left her lips and the doctor felt her heart constrict for this pitiful creature they had saved from the brink of insanity. Although, as she watched the young woman cling to her like a child seeking the loving touch of their mother, Bianca wondered how much of that sanity had really been left intact.

Finally, she was able to pry the others’ death grip that she held her with because Bianca had to get a pain remedy started as well as a healing paste for all the bruising that she still had. There were a number of scars that already littered her body, and she could do nothing for the ones that were weeks, or months old. However, the same healing paste would make the most recent cuts fade so they wouldn’t scar too badly.

Bianca laid Yeoman down as gently as she could, because she had already suffered enough at the hands of those bastards and she didn’t want to add any more to the suffering. While Yeoman she was in her care she would protect her from the world, and afterwards she would have to learn how to fend for herself. Soon, Bianca would be a doctor to all the Assassins, and unfortunately she wouldn’t be able to just concentrate her attentions on one person. However, until that time came that she was out of her care, Bianca would heal her, but it would be a long road to recovery until then.

The young woman knew that Yeoman; which she doubted was her real name, had been tortured mentally as well as physically. In this matter, Bianca would not be able to help her, because she was a doctor of the body. Also, there were no doctors for the mind within Roma or anywhere else that she would trust. For her, it had always seemed an area that couldn’t be properly studied, and was as a mystery to them as God’s Will. Also, those places for people not right in the head seemed to make their patients worse, and this was why she would rather try to help her to the best of her abilities instead of suggesting such a place.

She glanced at the slumbering figure, and noticed the way she instinctively turned her back toward the wall, and curled to unconsciously protect her stomach. This spoke of most likely having been attacked while she slept, and the injuries to her more private areas told a story all on their own. They had raped her in the most savage of ways, and while she could do nothing to heal those areas she knew enough to know one thing. Yeoman would never be able to have life beyond her own.

That night one of her injuries became infected and it sent Annetta into a fever-fueled slumber that kept Bianca at her side day and night. The other recruits came and checked on the strange person they had rescued but Bianca was tightlipped about the whole affair and wouldn’t even give them a name, and Ezio wasn’t saying anything either.

This continued for three days until finally Ezio allowed Bianca to at least give them a name. Yeoman. To the others it meant nothing of any consequence, but to a certain recruit it was a horrifying revelation.

Meanwhile, Annetta was incoherent for days on end as she slept on. Then after three more days of delirium her fever broke and she opened her eyes at last.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~o~
> 
> Buongiorno  
> carino reclute - cute recruits  
> Выглядит вы видели призрак, Мало Воробья - You look like you have seen a ghost, little sparrow  
> Вы находитесь слишком далеко, прекрасный - You are too far, gorgeous  
> Спросите меня запасные вашей жизни - Ask me to spare your life  
> Бег для меня - Beg for me  
> Иди к черту! - Go to hell!  
> Он тебя не любит - He does not love you  
> Он никогда не любил тебя - He never loved you


	24. Febrile Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desideria and Severino have been recruits roughly since February, so that’s two months. At this point they are both ranked Servitore, and both about to become Assistente. Remember, the ranks are as follows: Recluta, Servitore, Assistente, Milite, Discepolo, Mercenario, Guerriero, Veterano, Maestro, and Assassino. Everyone else is still Recluta. Also, if you noticed I started putting actual dates when the scene changes. When there’s a change of scene with no date then it’s happening on the same day. I started doing it to keep track of the timeline lol
> 
> I’m not satisfied with the title, but then again I never am. Oh well.

**Chapter Twenty-two:** _Febrile Conversations_

_February 07, 1501_

Adele’s head jerked up as she heard screams, and the clash of metal against metal. She grunted as she was suddenly slammed into the wall as people around her panicked and started to run away from the area. Adele rushed forward and gritted her teeth as she grabbed hold of the cart and tried to push it out of the way, but was dismayed as a man knocked into it and it tipped over. Her flowers went flying everywhere and she scrambled around trying to recover them before they were trampled underfoot.

As she staggered to her feet with an armful of flowers of all colors, the neighing of a horse caused her to look up. A woman on horseback galloped by and she stumbled back as she was nearly trampled. “Dio, that was close,” she muttered, her head whipping back around when the clash of weapons increased as well as the screaming of the dying. Adele tried to move past the pushing people and at least save the flowers within her arms. Finally, she came to the edge of the building and was able to see the Castel Sant’Angelo.

Adele was shocked to see a man facing off against the guards right in front of the Ponte Sant’Angelo. As she watched, hidden by one of the nearby buildings, the man cut through the guards that fought him for several minutes with a ruthlessness that was frightening. There were more and more of them coming, and soon bodies littered their feet that the man and other guards started to trip on them. For a moment it seemed the man would be overcome as he became surrounded by enemies on all sides, but there was a sudden explosion that rocked the Castel Sant’Angelo and most of the guards started rushing back toward the Castel.

The man, blocked another hit from one of the guards still left fighting him, kicked another and then broke away and fled to a horse that had been nearby as if it had been waiting for him. Adele hid back behind the building as the man’s horse galloped past, and as she was about to sigh in relief a few guards ran around the corner in pursuit. They knocked her out of the way as she hit the ground, and the flowers in her arms went flying everywhere.

She lay very still for several moments trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of her. When she finally struggled to stand, she winced as her back protested as a wave of pain shot through her nerve endings. “Oh,” she whimpered, standing a bit more slowly but not stopping completely. Adele didn’t want to lie around on the ground where she could be trampled by any horses or guards coming back from their unsuccessful pursuit of that man. She recognized those white robes well, and knew they wouldn’t catch him.

Adele groaned as she looked around at all her ruined flowers and her shoulders drooped in disappointment. All her wares had been destroyed and besides the few that she would be able to salvage, it was likely that she wouldn’t get any profit for that day. It seemed that every time she saw that man something happened, but whether he was good or evil was yet to be seen. Well, she couldn’t concern herself about that now.

It took several attempts --and no help from anyone passing by-- before she was able to right her cart, and then started to push it along to go back home. The day was as good as over; since all the flowers except a few that wouldn’t even make a simple bouquet had been destroyed. Adele figured that she could cut a few more in the early more to sell tomorrow, and if she was lucky she’d be able to have enough to pay the rent on her tiny home. It wasn’t much and her stand was small, but she was doing what she loved so she was happy. Besides, it was as if a change had started to come to Roma and she wasn’t being harassed as she might have one day been. Also, several shops around the surrounding area had opened up, and even a stable nearby. Whenever she made enough she rented a nag to pull her cart and it helped immensely, but this month it didn’t appear as if it would be possible.

Adele shook herself of her depressing thoughts as she turned the corner that would lead to her tiny home. She parked the heavy cart at the back and then chained it before locking it so it wouldn’t be stolen. Of course, there was still the risk that the lock or chain was broken, but it would make enough noise to wake her up and she had started to gain some skill with her stiletto. It was a necessity since she was living alone, and needed to be able to defend herself and nothing more.

There was a time where she had wished vengeance on the people that had killed or indirectly killed her parents, but it had been a foolish thought in those times. Her father had died when she had been twelve years old and even if she wanted to, Adele wouldn’t be able to remember the men’s faces that had trashed their flower shop and killed her father. Then there were those that had killed her mother to get to Madame Solari, but they had been slaughtered by the man that had tried to rescue her. So, there was nothing left for her except her love of flowers and expert hand at cultivating them. She hadn’t even returned to what she had once done in remembrance of her loved ones by throwing flower petals from the rooftop near the Pantheon for fear that she would be found responsible for killing that guard. Adele hadn’t done it for anyone but herself either way, so nobody would realize she had stopped.

 

In the morning, she rose before she sun had crept past the horizon. It was another day.

~o~

_April 08, 1501_

Vittorio stood at the edge of the roof, looking down into the street below with serious caramel eyes as the material of the uniform he wore fluttered in the wind. It was made of dark colors with black being the more dominant of them, and it was itchy. That was likely due to the cheap material being used, and it was obvious that it had been made in a hurry. Well, he wasn’t going to complain about the craftsmanship, however, the itchiness was likely to wear on his nerves before long. For the moment nothing could be done, so he dismissed this thought and concentrated on the street below.

Severino was crouched at his right side, grabbing onto the ledge with both hands to steady himself, and combined with the beaklike hood he resembled a bird of prey. He was pretty much wearing the same thing that Vittorio was with the exception of the mask, but he didn’t seem bothered by the itchiness of the material. It was likely that he had gotten used to it by now, and Vittorio decided that he eventually would as well. He shifted uneasily. Vittorio hoped it was soon.

“There they are,” Severino muttered at his side, leaning forward the slightest bit. Vittorio may have thought that the man would lose his balance, but he seemed to be at home so high up and his movements had been enviable as he had jumped from roof to roof on the way over. He’d been trained for a while and Vittorio wondered how long he had been a recruit, but he didn’t ask. Vittorio wanted to forestall any conversation between them if possible, and it was partially due to the fact that he had to play catch-up to Severino. The man was slightly annoying and if it was any indication the way Desideria acted, the man would only get more annoying with time and the best thing to do was ignore him.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he would try to take the lead in this, since Severino was the more experienced of the two of them. He would also report on his skills to Ezio, so he didn’t want to jump into a situation he hadn’t properly assessed and then get injured like some novice. Although, essentially that’s what he was, a Recluta. Vittorio vaguely wondered what rank Severino and Desideria were, who were the first two recruits and the most trained. He decided to ask later when they had completed the assignment.

Vittorio concentrated on several guards that were even now harassing a stand owner who was selling cuts of meat. The man was saying something to the ringleader as he held out his hands and shook his head. The guards sneered something back and lifted a booted foot to viciously kick his knee, and the stand owners’ scream of pain reached them from where they were on the roof as he crumpled. “Let’s go,” Severino said, his voice having gone flat and dangerous. Vittorio glanced at him momentarily as Severino straightened and hopped down to a lower roof, and kept moving until he was close enough to the ground so he wouldn’t get hurt when he jumped the last few feet. The former thief said nothing and followed after Severino. Well, he supposed that there was a reason Severino had been made part of the Assassin Brotherhood, and he was about to find out.

There were five of them in total and by the time Vittorio had reached ground level, Severino had managed to kill two already. Vittorio flung a throwing knife as he landed in a crouch, killing the guard that had been sneaking up behind his companion as he had been facing off against another opponent. He launched himself at the last guard as Severino finished off his third adversary, and when Vittorio had finally managed to plunge his sword into his gut, Severino was already helping the injured man.

Between the two of them they managed to help the man to a nearby dottore’s shop, and left after they were thanked extensively. “Well, that was fun!” Severino exclaimed as they walked down the street. He took a turn into an alley and Severino followed him without question. Vittorio glanced at him momentarily at his words before looking away again but didn’t comment on his sudden mood change. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“No,” Vittorio responded. The thief turned Assassin hoped that didn’t give the other permission to start jabbering on the way he did with Desideria. Vittorio may just punch him in the mouth and that was likely to get him kicked out of the Order.

“Hmm,” Severino hummed with a nod as he stretched his arms high above his head with a groan. “Well, I’ll eventually wear you down. You can’t be as bad as Desi. She punched me in the mouth the first week we met!” He laughed as if being punched in the mouth was the funniest thing in the world.

 _‘Well,’_ Vittorio thought to himself, _‘at least if I hit him too I won’t be kicked out.’_ Although, when Severino started talking his ear off as they started to climb onto a nearby roof; he couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or not. 

~o~

_May 31, 1501_

Vittorio was about to bite into an apple when it was snatched easily from his fingers. “Severino!” he growled, yanking his mask back into place before glancing at the infuriating man. There was nobody else that would bother him, since in the almost two months that he had been here Vittorio had been very antisocial. Augusto and him shared a mutual respect for one another but hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words. Fabiola didn’t speak at all but there was no need for it since he could read her facial expression easily enough when they weren’t on a mission together. Thus far they had all learned the basic signs used for ‘wait/stop’, ‘look’, ‘enemy’, ‘target/objective’, ‘danger’, and ‘go/attack’. If it wasn’t for those signs then nobody except Augusto would be able to go on assignments with Fabiola, since he was the only one that understood her. Vaguely, Vittorio wondered what their relationship was with one another. In two months he hadn’t been able to figure it out, and the two of them didn’t speak much on it either.

Desideria and Vittorio ignored one another, and only on missions was there any communication. However, it was only two of three clipped words and it was usually just orders that Vittorio followed silently. Bianca was frigidly polite, but then again she was like that with everyone with the exception of Fabiola and Augusto. Vittorio saw the looks that the woman threw at the couple when they weren’t looking, and knew that the doctor was most likely in love; but whether that was with Fabiola or Augusto was hard to tell since the two were always together.

Then there was Severino; the bane of his existence. The man would just. Not. Leave. Him. Alone!

Severino bit into the pilfered apple with a loud crunch, a dribble of juice running past his lip which he wiped with the sleeve of his uniform. “Did you get a look at that person they brought in?” he asked, ignoring the fact that he had just stolen his food. He took another large bite and glanced at Vittorio.

Vittorio rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. “No, I wasn’t close enough when they came in. The size would suggest a child, or a youth.” He knew that if he didn’t say anything than he would continue to pester him, so it was best to just answer him. Vittorio hoped Desideria would come back from her mission soon, since Severino bothered Vittorio the most when she was away. He stood with the intention of going to see if there were any missions available so he could get out of the hideout for an extended period of time. “It’s not like it concerns me, anyways.”

A laugh escaped Severino’s mouth as he finished off the apple and tossed the core in the trash bin that was in the corner. They had no maids here and one of them was assigned to clean out the trash each day, but with Bianca busy caring for her patient and Desideria out on assignment, it would fall to Vittorio, Severino, Augusto and Fabiola to take turns covering for them. Well, it was likely that it would be Vittorio’s turn since he had just come back from his own assignment that morning, and it was the rule that when someone came back from a mission and they had rested they would have clean-up duty. It was a relief that the one thing they had was someone that prepared their meals because Vittorio couldn’t cook to save his life, and he was likely to poison someone.

“You know you’re just as curious as I am about that person.” Severino shrugged as he hopped off the table where he’d been sitting, and Vittorio thought that if Desideria was here she would have smacked him upside the head about placing his butt where they ate. “Besides, I doubt it was a child since from what I could tell we were there to rescue an adult, so it could be a woman.” 

“Doubtful,” Vittorio snarked as Severino walked with him into the main area where the days’ missions were likely to be; if there were any. “There was no way a woman would be able to survive such torture.”

He knew there was a grin on Severino’s face, he could practically _feel_ it, and wondered why he always allowed the man to pull him into conversation. “You _are_ interested in knowing just like I am!” He laughed as he increased his pace so he was beside him and draped an arm across his shoulders. “Did you want to go to Bianca’s room and bug her about this mysterious person?”

Vittorio shook his arm off with a flash of annoyance, but the only indication Severino would have was the narrowing of his eyes. “No.” He grabbed the first mission that looked vaguely interesting and moved quickly out of the room, and ignored Severino as he shouted about how he wasn’t any fun to be around. “Good,” he mumbled under his breath. “Maybe then you’ll leave me alone.” The man pulled his hood up as he pushed the door open that would lead into the street, climbing up onto the horse that was tied nearby. When he had returned from his mission early that morning when the sky had still been dark, he had paid a stable hand to groom and keep the horse in the stables, and bring him back later that day. He was glad the horse was ready and hadn’t needed to go get him from the nearby stables.

As he moved over the bridge that connected Isola Tiberina to Centro, he opened the mission to read it better. A sigh left his lips when he saw that it was a request near the La Volpe Addormentata, and it was likely that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the area before Alejandro knew he was nearby, and that meant he would drag him over to the Sleeping Fox to see Mario. He hadn’t seen either of the men since Elio’s funeral almost two months ago, and it wasn’t that he was avoiding them per say, but it was just easier to stay away. Vittorio knew they didn’t blame him and never had, but _he_ blamed himself.

He read the mission over carefully and then burned it as he passed by a torch that had been lit in anticipation of dusk approaching. Well, he supposed he couldn’t have kept postponing it, and nudged his horse into a trot now that he had left the more congested part of Centro so he wouldn’t accidentally trample or knock a pedestrian over.

~o~

“What’s his condition?”

Annetta could hear a voice in the room, but her head felt too heavy and she couldn’t open her eyes to see. The whole room felt so hot, and there was something on her forehead that was so cold that it felt like it was burning her. A pitiful whimper escaped her lips and the conversation ceased in the room. “Shh, it’s alright,” a husky voice soothed. It calmed her from the weak struggles of trying to move whatever was on her forehead.

“One of his injuries has become infected and he’s suffering from a dangerously high fever.” The thing on her forehead was removed and there was the sound of water being sloshed around before it came back even colder as drops of freezing water ran down her face as she moaned. “It’s just a compress, calm down.” Annetta didn’t know who the voice belonged to but she believed this person and settled down even if it was still too hot, and the compress was burning her.

“Can he understand you? Is he coherent?” the other voice asked sharply. Annetta didn’t like this person’s voice and when she felt another foreign hand on her face she flinched away from them.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor sounded. “Messere Machiavelli, he cannot answer any questions you have for him at this time. Messere Yeoman is much too damaged both in body and mind to ever be able to answer anything any time soon.” She heard footsteps move away and then the door opening. “I would appreciate it if you were to leave and let me attend to my patient.” A sigh was heard before there were more footsteps moving away.

“At least answer one thing.” A grunt was heard and the man proceeded. “Has he mentioned anyone by the name of Ciro, or anything involving the Templars?”

“He has made no mention of anything important, Messere Machiavelli. If there is then you can rest assured that I will inform the Maestro.” A huff of exasperation was heard before the footsteps walked away and then the door was closed. Annetta tensed as someone came closer, but the husky voice came again. “It’s alright. You’re fine.” For some reason, Annetta believed the voice and even if she hadn’t been able to open her eyes once, she found herself drifting off once more into slumber. 

~o~

_June 01, 1501_

Annetta heard the murmur of voices in the room as she opened her eyes. She was delirious and thought she saw the monster that haunted her dreams. Havloh. He was leaning over her with that leer upon his face.

“Вы думаете, вы могли бы избежать мне?”

There was laughter and pain and blood, and she was screaming. The room was spinning and it was dark except for the light of a fire, and someone was trying to calm her down as she realized that she was screaming out loud. “Yeoman, you’re alright! You’re safe!” It was a lie. Annetta wasn’t safe, and _he_ would find her again. There was no escape.

“О, Боже! Помоги мне, Ciro!” she cried out, not realizing that she was yelling in Russian. “Он здесь! Не позволяйте ему меня болит!” A pair of hands was holding her trashing body down, and then she suddenly felt bile rush up as she heaved.

“Cristo, get me the pot!” the husky voice yelled at someone. There were rushing steps and as she heaved again it was to empty the meager contents of her stomach into a pot. A hand was rubbing her back in comfort as she trembled in fear. Finally, the nausea had subsided and she weakly fell back against the pillow as she wheezed. “Yeoman, look at me!” A touch at her face had Annetta flinching away in terror. “You’re safe. Just breathe,” she whispered. The room was spinning and she couldn’t concentrate on the woman’s face that was speaking to her, so she just closed her eyes again.

Bianca comforted a delirious and shaking Annetta and pulled the blankets over her, and the other occupant in the room turned out to be none other than Ezio Auditore da Firenze. “Does she do this quite often?” he asked in his deep voice, moving closer after having put the pot in the corner.

Bianca sighed as she sat up on the bed after having been leaning over Annetta to try and calm her down, but now it seemed that she had drifted off into an uneasy sleep. “No, she’s usually just confused and rambles about nonsensical things.” She glanced at the Assassin as he was about to speak. “No, she hasn’t said anything of importance of the Templars or why she was being held prisoner.” Bianca glanced back at the flushed face set in an expression of grief and pain. “Quite frankly, if I was in her position I don’t think I’d ever speak of it.”

Ezio sighed and nodded, and Bianca was a bit surprised that he took her word for it. Bianca wasn’t a doctor of the mind the way she was an expert of the body, and she knew that the Maestro hadn’t trusted her at first upon joining. She honestly didn’t blame him for his mistrust, since Malfatto had been a monster and anyone would be a fool to blindly trust someone associated with him, especially a relative of his.

So, for her to accept her words now –for however long that would last— was a surprise, since this meant that he was starting to trust her more. Suddenly, Bianca was glad that she hadn’t kept Yeoman’s true gender from him, since when he found then it would be a stain upon her credibility. Then remembering the woman’s plea earlier, Bianca turned toward the Maestro.

“The first night she was here she asked for me not to reveal her true gender to anyone.” Ezio turned toward her and nodded for her to continue. “I explained that I _had_ to inform you, but promised not to tell anyone else.”

Ezio glanced at the battered young woman on the bed, his eyes dark with an emotion that Bianca could not name. “Bene, I do not have a problem with it if that’s her wish.” He reached behind him to pull his hood up, which meant that he would be on his way now and would likely head to the roofs instead of exiting at street level. “I will return in a day or two to check on her...him. If his condition worsens then do what you must to make him better,” he paused and looked into Bianca’s eyes. “If there is nothing to be done for him and he’s in pain, then be merciful.”

Bianca swallowed as she realized what he was asking her. Slowly, she nodded and then saw him to the door before closing it quietly behind him. Bianca turned to look Yeoman’s wheezing frame and a determination filled her. She would not let the other female succumb to her injuries without a fighting chance, so she hurried over to her supplies and started working.

~o~

_June 3, 1501_

If Bianca was asked whether Yeoman was coherent enough to answer Ezio’s question, then Bianca would answer with a huge NO! Of course, she wasn’t asked and she knew that she was only barely starting to earn the Assassin’s trust. Also, Bianca knew the importance of making sure Yeoman wasn’t working with the enemy if they were going to keep treating her. According to Niccolo, Ciro Petaccia was an enemy, and Yeoman was associated with Ciro. So, did Bianca think Yeoman was coherent enough to answer questions? No, but there was really no other choice.

Yeoman was shivering as she sat up against several pillows Bianca had gotten for this interrogation, and her unfocused eyes trying and failing to stay open. Ezio snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her to focus on him, and she flinched before meeting his gaze. “What is your name?” he asked, knowing that Yeoman wasn’t her real name.

She swallowed past a dry throat. “Yeoman,” she croaked.

Bianca tried to step forward to give her some water, but Ezio held out a hand to stop her. “Tell me your name,” he demanded firmly. The doctor sometimes forgot how intimidating Ezio could he since he was usually so easy-going and teased the younger recruits. Also, he was a bit of a flirt, so it was easy to forget that he was also a Master Assassin.

However, it seemed that either Yeoman wasn’t intimidated at all, of the fever was affecting her mind and making her reckless. Either one, Yeoman stared back at him unflinchingly. “Yeoman,” she said through trembling lips, which had nothing to do with fear.

The two of them had a stare-down for several tense moments before Ezio leaned forward into her personal space. Bianca now noticed her hands were slightly shaking as they grasped the sheet covering her lap. Perhaps she was actually scared but hadn’t wanted to show it. “It’s just a name,” he murmured. “It will hardly reveal anything important. Just tell me your name.”

Her eyes narrowed on his features. “You have this place, people like her,” she indicated Bianca, “a purpose, _and_ a name.” She lifted a hand and closed the open neck of the gown to shield her throat from their view. “I don’t have anything left besides my name.” Yeoman glanced away from them both to stare at the wall for several seconds of silence. “I’m Yeoman.”

Bianca waited to see what Ezio’s response to her words would be and when he sighed in defeat, she released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Bene, Yeoman. I am Ezio Auditore.” He leaned back against the chair he was sitting in. “We rescued you from the Templars imprisonment, and although they are our enemies that doesn’t mean we can trust you or consider you an ally.”

Yeoman had yet to turn to look at him again, and only stared at the wall as if it were a window and she were looking out into the world. “You’re right,” she whispered, seeming to be in a daze. She turned to look at him then, and Bianca saw the hazy look in her eyes and knew it was due to the fever. “It seems logical for you to dispose of me.”

Ezio was stunned by her words as he leaned forward again, but she cringed away so he stopped and sat back in the chair. “Do you _want_ me to kill you? Are you saying I can’t trust you?” he asked calmly, but Bianca could see the slight clenching of his hands to indicate that he wasn’t unaffected by those words. Yeoman was sickly looking and fragile, and anything more than a shove would likely topple her. Ezio was twice as large as her and the idea of a man his size harming Yeoman made nausea coil in Bianca’s stomach. However, she said nothing and merely observed.

Yeoman glanced away again and her gaze was unfocused, and they both wondered what she saw then. “There is nothing left for me to live for, Messere Auditore. Besides, death is not the worst thing you could do to me. It would be a mercy.” A smirk twisted her parched lips. “It’s not that you can’t trust me, but that I don’t trust _you_. The only man I trusted is gone now, and I would join him.”

Bianca grew angry at her words. “So, you want to die?” she snapped, ignoring Ezio when he lifted a hand to forestall any more words. “After all the care and time I spent trying to heal you, and you want to throw your life away!” Ezio stood and Bianca clamped her mouth shut as he moved toward her. He turned her away from Yeoman who hadn’t bothered to even acknowledge her.

“Calm yourself,” he murmured, his large hand warm against the small of her back while the other squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “They broke her in that place, and that’s all she has known for a long time. Be patient with her.”

She had to take a deep breath before Bianca felt she could turn and look at Yeoman again. “I am sorry,” she whispered. Ezio smiled before giving her shoulder another squeeze and moving back to the chair. The man’s actions filled her with warmth in her chest, and that if he didn’t trust her he would have ordered her out of the room instead of comforting her. Bianca thought that perhaps he may have felt a bit the same at hearing those words.

“You will not be harmed in this place,” Ezio stated. Yeoman looked back at him, her strange black eyes meeting his amber. “We saved and healed you, and when you are recovered I’d like for you to join us.”

Yeoman’s head titled in confusion, and her mouth turned down in a frown. “What is this place?”

“The Assassin Brotherhood,” he said with a proud grin. Bianca smiled slightly as she moved to stand behind him once again. “This is Bianca, and she’s a recluta within our ranks.”

“How many people are in this place?” Yeoman asked.

Ezio frowned at her question. “I can’t answer that until you tell me your association with Ciro Petaccia and the Templars.”

The battered woman pulled her legs against her chest. She was shaking now but Bianca couldn’t tell whether it was out of fear or the fever. “What does it matter? Ciro is dead.” Yeoman pulled the covers closer to her chin as if cold, and Bianca knew that her fever was likely increasing. Bianca didn’t know how much longer she would remain coherent enough to answer Ezio’s questions. So, she leaned down and whispered this in the man’s ear as he nodded.

“Si, but Ciro was once an Assassin in our Brotherhood.” Yeoman’s head snapped up at those words. “He was pretending to be a Templar and feeding the Brotherhood information on their activities.” Ezio leaned forward even as Yeoman shrunk away from him. “Ciro was about to move his family to safety when his true allegiance was discovered. They murdered his wife and two children, and Ciro slaughtered two fellow Assassins for failing to protect his family from the Templars.”

She was shaking her head now as tears gathered in her eyes. “You’re lying,” Yeoman rasped, shrinking further into herself.

Ezio watched her. “Ciro betrayed his brothers.” Yeoman flinched at his words. “He was a traitor.”

Bianca sadly watched as Yeoman was reduced to tears. “Enough,” she pleaded quietly.

The Master Assassin sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, turning away from the distraught woman. “Merda,” he murmured. Bianca knew that he had taken his interrogation too far, and thought that perhaps it was the fact that this Ciro had betrayed the Assassins. Ezio seemed to have a problem when it came to betrayal, and Bianca wondered if perhaps _he_ had been betrayed at some point.

Bianca moved forward with a sleeping remedy to calm the fevered Yeoman, and it didn’t take long for it to work. She sighed as she straightened and glanced at Ezio as he sat hunched in the chair with his face in his hands. “You look exhausted, Bianca,” he commented. He lifted his gaze toward her. “Take one of the unoccupied beds down the hall and get some sleep.” She opened her mouth to protest and he shook his head. “I’ll watch her and wake you if she gets worse. So get some rest.”

The doctor hesitated a moment longer, but then felt the weariness she had been fighting for most of the day. “Bene,” she sighed. She rummaged around her bag and extracted a bottle with a pink liquid inside. “Give this to her in about an hour, and make sure she drinks it all.”

Ezio nodded and held out his hand for the bottle. Bianca glanced at Yeoman a moment before handing it over. “I’ll be next door.” And without another word, Bianca walked out of the room. She glanced back at him as she closed the door to see him hunched forward once more, and Bianca wondered if he felt guilty. After all, Yeoman had been tortured by the Templars, and Ezio had perhaps broken her just a little bit more.

Bianca entered the room and collapsed on the bed with her clothes on. She was asleep before she was even able to kick off her boots.

~o~

Vittorio sighed as he walked back into the hideout after having been gone for three days. It hadn’t occurred to Vittorio that the mission would take as long as it did, but the man had been hard to track and had to resort to using the thieves for information on his target’s whereabouts. He had managed to find and kill him (but making it look like an accident), and then another day as Alejandro had found and predictably dragged him off to see Mario. Now it was nearing nightfall and he was back almost exactly three days, and he just wanted to fall into bed.

As he slowly climbed the stairs, he was glad that hadn’t seen Severino. Vittorio was sure he’d stab him in that moment if he pestered him, so it was just as well that there was no sign of him. As he was passing by one of the unoccupied rooms, he heard humming coming from inside. Vittorio paused and listened with a frown. “What the hell?” he muttered to himself. He tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. The door opened silently and blinked at the scene before him.

Fabiola was leaning over a figure asleep in the bed, and carefully removing a pair of boots from them. It took a closer look to realize that it was Bianca, who appeared to be dead to the world. The mute woman glanced at Vittorio but didn’t pause in her humming as she eased the other woman’s legs under the covers and then pulled them over the rest of her.

“She’s been taking care of that person all this time?” he inquired. Fabiola’s lips lifted and nodded, and sat beside the slumbering female. “Are you going to stay with her?” The other glanced at him with amusement in her eyes, and Vittorio rolled his eyes. Even though he had told Severino he didn’t care about this mysterious person, it wasn’t the truth. Vittorio wouldn’t admit it, but he was curious. “Do you know their name?”

“Yeoman,” someone said behind him, and he recognized Augusto’s voice.

Vittorio stiffened as his breath hitched in his throat. Fabiola’s eyebrows rose in surprise as Vittorio’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

Augusto moved further into the room, and the child (Giotto) in his arms immediately wiggled around to indicate he wanted to be put down. He set him down and Giotto immediately hurried toward the bed, where he proceeded to gently pet Bianca’s hair. The sight might have made him crack a smile any other time, but now he only turned toward Augusto.

“The Maestro told us his name this morning,” Augusto explained. The other man looked at Vittorio closely for a moment, and if he had been able to see his face he’d have noticed that it had gone alarmingly pale. “Are you alright?”

Vittorio turned without another word and dashed out of the room as the twins glanced at one another in confusion. He didn’t bother to knock as he pushed past the door. Ezio was sitting on the bed supporting a half-awake Yeoman with a hand at the back of her neck. The man was feeding her a pink liquid from a small glass bottle, but paused as he glanced at Vittorio in confusion.

“Vittorio, what’s wrong?” he asked, eyebrows lifting as he removed his mask. Ezio hadn’t seen his face since the day Elio had died in the younger man’s arms. He turned back to an unresponsive Yeoman, finished tipping the last few drops as she swallowed instinctively. After settling her back under the covers he stood and moved toward Vittorio. “Start talking.”

The younger male had been looking at Yeoman in horrified realization, but straightened at Ezio’s command. He closed the door but didn’t look at the other. “I know her.” Vittorio didn’t see his face register surprise at the fact that Vittorio knew Yeoman was female. “While I was with Mario’s flock, I was sent out on a mission with...Elio about a pair of thieves in Campagna District. They were said to be Robyn and Yeoman, and I later learned that Robyn’s real name was Ciro and Mario’s younger brother.”

Ezio nodded, since he had already known that Ciro Petaccia and Mario Petaccia were brothers. Also, that Mario’s loyalty had never been called into question despite his brother’s actions, and that La Volpe had complete trust in the man. “So, you met her then,” he supplied to which Vittorio nodded. “There’s more.” It was a statement instead of the question it was meant to be, but Vittorio agreed either way.

“We were…romantically involved for a long time before she disappeared one day,” he murmured, hand clenching at his side. Vittorio was sick to think that perhaps this was the reason she hadn’t ever come back, because she had been captured and tortured. “How long was she..?” He couldn’t even finish the sentence, but there was no need for Ezio to understand what he meant.

The older Assassin shook his head. “I’m not sure, and she hasn’t said much.” He observed the recruit at the door who hadn’t turned around to face the door, and realized that it was painful for him to keep looking at the broken woman on the bed. “It was a long time though.” Vittorio flinched and Ezio’s lips thinned. “You love her, don’t you?”

Vittorio made no reaction to the man’s words except the tiniest movement of his head. “How is she?” He paused as he remembered something. “Why do Augusto and Fabiola think she’s a man?”

Ezio smirked at the odd situation. Vittorio, resident anti-social recruit was in love with a woman that didn’t want anyone knowing she was a woman. “Yeoman requested it,” he answered his second question first. For the other he sat back down at the young woman’s side. “As for your second question, well, it would have been kinder to have killed her when we found her.”

He glanced at Vittorio as he moved forward at last, and he stopped besides Ezio as he stared down at the unconscious Yeoman. “You know her name, don’t you?” Vittorio nodded but didn’t offer it, and Ezio didn’t ask.

They stayed like this until Bianca came back three hours later to relieve Ezio. Vittorio stayed the rest of the night despite Bianca’s annoyance at having him there. As for Yeoman; Annetta, she didn’t wake again until three more days after her conversation with Ezio.

~o~

_June 6, 1501_

Annetta was confused as she opened her eyes and didn’t recognize the ceiling. The second thing she realized was that she was lying on something soft, and after that the memories came rushing back as well as the grief of Ciro’s death. A sob caught in her throat, choking her and making her cough violently.

A hand at her hair; clean and evened out, made her stiffen as her watery eyes darted fearfully to the side. She felt cold as she recognized that face. Vittorio. Annetta thought she may have been hallucinating and closed her eyes for several seconds before opening them again, but he remained there.

Vittorio grinned wearily at the bemused woman and continued to stroke her hair. However, he was startled as she jerked away from him as if he had hit her. She said nothing as she stared at him with fearful eyes, and Vittorio was at a loss for words.

 _‘Does she not recognize me?’_ he wondered to himself.

“A-” He paused and glanced at Bianca at the other end of the room as she prepared some medicine. The doctor hadn’t seemed to realize that Annetta had woken up. “Yeoman,” he whispered, reaching for her again but she flinched away from him so he let his hand drop back to his side. “Don’t you recognize me?” He hesitated for a moment before pulling down his mask so she could see his face. Her eyes darted across his features but nothing else as she silently regarded him. “Yeoman?”

Her mouth opened and Vittorio leaned forward eagerly. “Who are you?” Annetta asked him.-

~o~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castel Sant’Angelo - Castle of the Holy Angel  
> Ponte Sant’Angelo - Bridge of the Holy Angel; is a Roman bridge in Rome, Italy, spanning the Tiber, from the city center to the towering Castel Sant’Angelo.  
> Вы думаете, вы могли бы избежать мне? - Did you think you could escape me?  
> О, Боже! Помоги мне, Ciro! - Oh God! Help me, Ciro!  
> Он здесь! - He is here!  
> Не позволяйте ему меня болит! - Do not let him hurt me!


	25. Ignis Fatuus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this writer’s block hit me harder than I ever imagined. Phiod and Remi couldn’t even see me trying to write this story without going into violent spasms. Poor ReZ took the brunt of Phiod’s violence, lol  
> Now, Desideria and Severino have been recruits roughly since February, so that’s two months. At this point they are both ranked Servitore, and both about to become Assistente. Remember, the ranks are as follows: Recluta, Servitore, Assistente, Milite, Discepolo, Mercenario, Guerriero, Veterano, Maestro, and Assassino. Everyone else is still Recluta. Also, if you noticed I started putting actual dates when the scene changes. When there’s a change of scene with no date then it’s happening on the same day. I started doing it to keep track of the timeline lol
> 
> Layout of the dormitories:  
> http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g130/bite-me-harder/4th%20Floor%20Dormitories_zps1p0ra4ti.png

_June 6, 1501_

_‘Who are you?’_

Vittorio would be lying if he said that Annetta’s question hadn’t shaken him, because it had. It had rattled him so much that his hands were trembling even an hour later. He was in the room he’d been assigned by the Maestro, since Bianca had kicked him out as soon as she realized that Annetta was awake despite Vittorio’s protests. He had finally left when the dottore had threatened to call Ezio.

As he left, he thought that perhaps antagonizing her was a bad idea since she’s the one that would be attending to any wounds he may acquire in the future. Hopefully, she was a professional that didn’t let personal feelings get in the way of treating her patients.

Now, he was pacing as he tried to calm his trembling hands and going over his first meeting with Annetta after more than a year. She had been pale and bruised, and her face had been slightly swollen so he hadn’t been able to read the emotion on her face too well when she’d first seen him. He could tell she had been afraid as she shrunk away from him, and Vittorio wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Well, since he loved the stubborn woman, then he guess he could say that he felt hurt.

Vittorio stopped mid-step at that thought and remembered Ezio’s words from the other day, and tried to make sense of it. _‘Do I love her?’_ he asked himself seriously, instead of trying to deny it outright. He had already lost too much time with her with denials.

He thought back to the nights they had spent together and the cottage he had bought for her. The way he felt when her smiles and laughter had faded over time due to his indifference, and finally, the devastation to realize that he had driven her away. How, as he prepared to die after Elio’s death, his only thought had been of Annetta and his wish to see her smiling face once more.

Then he realized that had possibly already been imprisoned by that point, and felt bile rise in his throat at the thought. He physically hurt trying to image all she had suffered.

So, perhaps it was safe to say that he _did_ love her.

However, there was the present problem that she didn’t remember him, or it was likely she was lying and said it because she was angry with him. Vittorio was determined to find out the truth. If they had damaged her so much that she had forgotten, then he would help her remember, and if she didn’t _want_ to remember him, the he’d do everything in his power to gain her forgiveness.

Either way, Vittorio would never let her escape from him again. Never again.

~o~

Annetta tried to ignore the former thief as he sat beside her bed once more, but she was watching him with her peripheral vision. If she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t really sure how she felt about having him here. It was true that memories of their time spent together had helped her retain a bit of sanity, but now that he was here she didn’t know what to do about it. Also, she had blurted that question in her panic at seeing him again after more than a year; a year that had been anything but kind to her.

Now, she was ignoring him.

Bianca had kicked him out earlier after she realized that Annetta was awake, but he’d only been away long enough to obviously bathe and change clothes; although they were the same kind as before. Annetta discreetly inhaled his scent and shuddered slightly to realize that it was the same after all this time.

Although she’d never admit it, she wanted to bury her nose against his throat and take all of him in, and maybe pretend for a while that she was safe. However, the Annetta that had once deceived herself where he was concerned had died, and was reborn into the scornful creature that was before him. Hence, she knew that she’d never be safe until she saw Havloh’s corpse.

The blue eyed woman came over, and besides shooting an annoyed look at Vittorio, she paid him no mind as she offered Annetta some medicine. Vittorio moved as if to help Annetta drink it, but she quickly took it to stop him as Vittorio deflated in disappointment.

Annetta was using her left hand, since she had sprained the right one while struggling against the rope that had had her immobilized, and she had further injured it during her panic attack while she’d been feverish. So, Bianca had forbidden her from moving or using it at all. The reason she listened to the other woman was not due to trust, but because it was practical.

If she injured herself more than she’d be in this bed even longer than she was already going to be. When she managed to get well enough, then she would leave this place. Of course, there was no guarantee that they’d allow her to leave, but if she managed to get in better health, than she could sneak out. Annetta didn’t know where she would go afterwards, but she would figure that out later. She just wanted to get away from this place that called Ciro a traitor. The man had come for her and had given his life to save her. Ciro was no traitor.

The battered woman suddenly had a thought. _‘Where is Ciro’s body?’_ She wasn’t sure how long she had been unconscious, since judging by her weakness, she had been feverish for several days. "Bianca, where is Messere Ezio?" she asked suddenly.

Bianca turned toward her before a thoughtful expression came over her face. "He’s on a..." she hesitated, "an errand."

Annetta knew there was more to it than that, but decided not to ask. "Could you tell him I wish to speak with him when he gets here?" The dottore stared silently at her for several seconds before giving a nod, and then returning to preparing something Annetta couldn’t see from the bed.

An awkward silence enveloped them then, until the door slammed open moments later, and Annetta wasn’t the only one that flinched; Vittorio even threw a knife instinctively. Bianca’s hands were busy making the medicine, but she turned to scowl at the two people standing in the doorway.

Desideria moved her head an inch to the left to evade the knife as it impaled into the door across the hallway. She was holding up a bleeding Severino as he pressed a bloody hand against his blood-drenched abdomen. She shoved him forward then as he stumbled in and he huffed in annoyance. "Take care of this idiota," she growled, and then spun on her heel and left the room. She appeared a moment later after recovering the knife, which she threw back at Vittorio who caught it with a small nod at her. Then Desideria slammed the door shut.

The mentioned idiot turned to look at Bianca. "It’s not as bad as it looks," he informed an unamused Bianca. The woman just pointed to one of the unoccupied beds in the room, and Annetta was immensely grateful that it was on the other side of the room.

This was the biggest room on this floor beside the storage one right across the hall, and it had a total of six beds with three on both sides, and a fireplace in the left corner. There were shelves on the front wall on either side of the bed that stretched to the wall, and on the right side the shelf curved along the wall until it stopped about half a foot from the first bed. Annetta was on the beds on the right where there was no fireplace so they were closer to the wall where there was a window just above it. She felt reassured by that window, since it provided an escape route because it was right above her head.

Severino was on the beds on the left side of the room, the one closer to the fireplace where Bianca was sitting on a stool while she cleaned his cut after having cut the shirt away from the wound. "It’s not as bad as it looks," the blue eyed woman said sarcastically, pressing the bandages to the wound. "Hold this here!" she snapped.

The man obeyed without question and Bianca stood as she moved over to her table, plucking a bottle of something as well as a small box that rattled as she walked. "I have to sew this wound closed." If her glare could burn, Severino would be a pile of ash with the combination of Bianca’s and the one Desideria had had on her face before dumping him here.

He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, the bastardo wasn’t as dead as I thought," he said by way of an explanation.

Bianca sat down on the stool once more, and he winced as she harshly slammed the tin box on his leg for easier reach. She grabbed a few more bandages that had been cut into strips, and smearing the pasty substance inside the bottle onto one she then spread it on his other leg for later use. "Do you want something to bite into?" she asked him, taking a needle and thread from the tin box. The man pressed his lips together into a bloodless line before giving a firm shake of his head. "Bene."

The woman’s deft hands threaded the needle before leaning forward and inserting the needle without preamble, but Severino barely flinched. Vittorio would say that it was actually admirable if he hadn’t seen the man being beaten by Desi during training. Severino had just become desensitized by a certain amount of pain, which was both good and bad. It was good since a very minimal wound wouldn’t cause him too much discomfort and thus he could continue the mission. However, if he acquired an injury like the one he had obviously gotten in this latest mission then he would simply dismiss it thinking it wasn’t serious since it didn’t hurt. That was a good way to bleed out without realizing it before it’d be too late to do anything about it.

Vittorio was about to say something to him, but paused when he noticed the man’s gaze resting on Annetta. The woman was giving him a very wary glance while she tried to make herself as small as possible. Severino may be an annoying, chatterbox at times, but he was also a powerhouse. He was about five inches away from being six feet, and all of it was muscle. So, he understood Annetta’s wariness.

Severino’s eyes snapped to Vittorio when he stood, moving the stool he had been sitting in to place in the man’s line of sight so Annetta would be partially covered. The man regarded him with a seriousness that was uncanny for him before he gave him an indulgent smile. "I meant no harm," he murmured. "I was merely curious about our guest.

The masked man grunted. "A curiosity like yours is likely to cause at least some kind of harm," he responded. Annetta had twitched only slightly when Vittorio had stood up but now that he was between her and Severino, the tense line of her shoulders had relaxed slightly. "Besides, Yeoman isn’t a painting to be stared at. He’s entitled to his privacy while recovering."

It was likely that Severino was sporting one of his amused or smug grins by this point, and Vittorio didn’t care to turn around and confirm this. He was content to stare at Annetta’s right arm which was wrapped tightly against her chest to prevent it from moving. Vittorio had been re-entering the room when Bianca was telling Annetta that she wasn’t to move it under any circumstances.

"You seem to know Yeoman very well. Is he part of your past which we’re not allowed to ask about?"

Vittorio rolled his eyes, already inured to the man’s annoying behavior. "It’s just you that’s not allowed to ask, since you’re the only one asking to begin with." He contemplated pulling his hood up but it would likely be perceived as a nervous motion and alert Severino how right he was that he knew Annetta _very_ well.

~o~

Once more, Vittori found himself kicked out of the room. He would have protested more but this time both Severino and himself had had to leave as soon as Ezio had shown up unexpectedly. Apparently, Annetta wanted to ask him something that she didn’t want anyone else besides Bianca to hear. He wouldn’t be surprised if she already knew what it was about.

He was practicing his swordsmanship with Augusto at the moment, since his emotions of frustrations had been causing him to pace outside the door. Vittorio wanted to be a fly on the wall of the clinic to hear what Annetta wanted to say. In fact, it was so few words that she had spoken to him since she had awoken that anything she said would be treated like something precious.

Vittorio’s distraction caused Augusto to get past his defenses and nick his upper right arm, and the man stopped with a frown. "If you’re not going to take this seriously, then I’m not going to bother with you." He sheathed his sword before turning on his heel and left the room.

As for his part, Vittorio was left floundering for words as the younger man left the room. Vittorio groaned in frustration, sat down on the cold, stone floor and let the sword clatter down beside him. Of course, Augusto was right to be angry with him, since he didn’t even have the decency to take their sparring seriously.

He was just worried, and frankly he was growing sick with himself. Mostly because he felt so useless and the thought of how long it would take --if ever-- to earn Annetta’s trust.

The man gave one last sigh before standing, snatching his fallen sword as he straightened before sheathing it at his side once again. He was on the third floor where all the rooms, including the small courtyard, were used as training areas. Now he climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor where all the reclutas were housed, including the clinic that had been transformed from a former storage room.

Each of the smaller rooms had two beds and could house two reclutas, but at the moment there weren’t enough of them to really start sharing. Also, he was certain that Bianca slept in one of the beds of the clinic during the night so she would be closer to her herbs and medicines in an emergency. She was also sent on missions, but never any long term ones in case she was needed there. It would be interesting to see in the future whether she would be sent on missions to other cities as she climbed up in rank.

A shout had his head snapping up before he broke into a run toward the clinic where the sound had come from. He was a foot away when he heard Annetta’s horse voice yelling at Ezio, of all people.

"—like some stray dog!"

"Calm yourself," Ezio said calmly.

Vittorio had come to stop outside of the door, since he wasn’t sure if he should enter or not. However, that thought went out the window as he heard a crash from inside and quickly opened the door. A moment later he realized that it was the stool that Vittorio had been sitting in that had fallen to the floor, and it was because Annetta was struggling to leave the bed as Bianca tried to stop her. Ezio watched both of them from the foot of the bed, and the fact that he had his hood pulled up said a lot. Although, Vittorio only knew that it was because he was defensive, but not the reason.

"I refuse to stay in this bed while Ciro’s body is in that hole in the ground!" she snarled, pitching into a coughing fit a moment later. Bianca removed a small bottle from the pouch at her side and tried to offer it to Annetta, but the woman only smacked her hand away. The bottle flew out of her hand and it shattered on the ground as it spilled its contents.

**"I said calm yourself!"**

Annetta flinched violently at Ezio’s raised voice and shrunk back into the pillows that had been helping her sit up in the bed. The man’s lips were twisted into a disgusted expression, but Vittorio was almost sure it wasn’t directed at the young woman.

A few moments of silence passed before Ezio inhaled deeply. "When Niccolò learned that one of the soldiers killed was Ciro Petaccia he investigated where the bodies of the men were buried," he explained, having gone back to his calm tone.

"They hadn’t able to identify his body, so it was turned over to the church for final rites and proper burial. He was buried in a small plot of land owned by the church outside of the city." He lifted a hand and pushed back his hood so his eyes weren’t in shadow anymore, and thus looked less like a threat. Although, the rigidity of Annetta’s shoulders didn’t relax as she peered at him with a pale face, her jaw clenched tight enough to most likely cause her discomfort. "Despite Niccolò’s hatred for the man, he did not disturb the grave, but he also didn’t inform me where he was buried."

"I-I have to go-"

"No," Ezio snapped as Annetta flinched once more. He stood up, towering over the smaller woman in the bed that had started to tremble at the intimidating gesture, because that was what it was. Vittorio didn’t say anything, since he had come to know Ezio better in the time he had been in the Brotherhood, and knew that he did it for Annetta’s wellbeing. If she left the bed in search of Ciro’s body –whom he figured had to be the one he knew as Robyn— then she was likely to do herself more harm.

"You are not well enough to leave this bed, and won’t leave it until Bianca says you are healthy enough to do so." He turned away from her without another word, walking toward the door and past Vittorio. The masked man glanced at Annetta but the woman refused to look at any of them, having turned her face toward the wall. She was still shaking slightly, and even if Vittorio wanted to go to her now he knew that she may snap at him at the moment.

Bianca glanced at him sharply as walked further into the room, but he only picked up the stool and straightened it. "I’ll be back tomorrow," he murmured toward Annetta. She didn’t answer him, but he had been expecting it as he gave Bianca a parting nod before leaving the room.

A few minutes later he caught up with Ezio in the main room, looking over some documents. Usually some of the other recruits were here; Severino in the small library or Augusto where some of the purchased paintings were hung up. However, it was empty with the exception of Ezio and Vittorio. Although he was staring at the parchment in his hand, Vittorio could tell that he wasn’t reading it.

"She’s so afraid of me," the man said quietly before Vittorio could say anything. Ezio had yet to turn around so couldn’t see expression on his features, but he could tell that this bothered him greatly. After all, Ezio was a just, decent man. "The horrors they must have subjected her to..." He didn’t finish his statement, but Vittorio still flinched at the mention of the woman’s imprisonment.

The man cleared his throat before finally turning to face him. "I have a mission for you..."

Vittorio cut him off, which surprised Ezio since he didn’t normally do such a thing. "Actually, I have something to do, Maestro," he said hesitantly, not wanting to state the reason he was refusing the mission.

Ezio leaned back against the table behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. "It wouldn’t have anything to do with grave desecration, would it?"

It seemed that the man knew him better than he thought. Then again, when it had to do with Annetta he wasn’t exactly subtle. If Severino could tell that there was something going on between Annetta (or Yeoman) and himself, then he knew he was being sloppy. However, he couldn’t find it in him to care. He had played things cool once when dealing with Annetta and their relationship, but not anymore.

"Yes," he candidly replied. There was no point in denying it, and he wouldn’t want to; especially not to Ezio. It was always better to be frank with the man, no matter the reason.

Ezio sighed and straightened. The Assassin had known that the former thief would be compelled to do something when it clearly distressed Yeoman so much. Once more, he felt the desire to ask Vittorio what the woman’s name was. However, he remembered her words and the desperation behind them.

_I don’t have anything left besides my name._

However, he didn’t think she was right about that. After all, here was a man that seemed ready to do anything for her. Now, if only she realized it, but Ezio knew that it would likely take her a long time to ever recover enough to trust again; if ever. Yeoman would never again be the same woman that Vittorio had known before, and that he’d loved then. It would be a struggle for them if the man wanted to try and cultivate some semblance of relationship with her.

Well, digging up her father-figure and giving him better than a popper’s burial was a step in the right direction; no matter how unorthodox.

"Molto bene," he conceded. "I doubt Niccolò will easily give you the information, but I happen to know which brand of wine he loves. So, this is what you’re going to do..."

If Ezio could help them along, then he would play a little matchmaking. His amusement was only part of the reason.

~o~

_June 8, 1501_

It just seemed an unmeasured amount of bad luck that the first week without Ciro was the worst they had since coming to Roma. There were few places to take refuge during the night from the elements and from the guards that seemed to be around every corner, and without Ciro’s thieving skills they had no money. Ugo, while his father had been a thief, had been raised and trained by mercenaries, and thus couldn’t pick-pocket to save his life. Also, the guards had taken a disliking to Ghita due to her need to defend anyone they started harassing, so they had taken to harassing her instead whenever they spotted her. After a few days, it started to go beyond getting pushed around and being verbally abused.

Ugo knew she was beautiful, but to him she had always been even as a gap-toothed child and an awkward, gangly teenager. He had always loved her, and it was only in the last two years that the innocent love he had felt had transformed to desire. Ghita’s body had filled out into that of a woman.

Of course, he would be a fool if he thought that others wouldn’t notice this as well. The guards obviously disliked her, but there were an alarming many that were interested in her more than Ugo was comfortable with. It explained the scene he returned to after having gone to acquire something to eat with money he had earned doing some odd jobs. Ghita had stayed behind and was supposed to keep out of sight, and was dismayed to see that she hadn’t been as well hidden as she had thought.

Ghita was surrounded by a patrol that had been passing by, and the highest ranked within their group was leaning a little too close to the young woman pressed against the wall of the building behind her. The other guards had formed a circle around them to prevent Ghita from escaping. Ugo could see that the girl was just itching to draw the swords strapped to her sides by the curling and uncurling of her fingers.

She had gotten better over the months they had been with Ciro, whose fate neither of them knew at this point in time. Ghita liked to imagine that Annetta and Ciro had been reunited and were even now happily living somewhere outside of Roman, and away from everything that had hurt them. Ugo, however, was of a more pessimistic outlook and knew that the odds had been against the stubborn man. A tiny sliver of optimism had him hoping that the Assassins had gotten there in time to save them both, or at least one of them.

As Ugo darted forward to kill the first guard, Ghita withdrew her swords faster than the man cornering her could blink, and Ugo was abundantly grateful that Ciro had dedicated the time to train his girl. Ugo hoped he was still alive so he could thank him one day.

The guard fell away from her in a spray of blood as one of her drawn swords caught him across his exposed throat, and the other clanged loudly as it met another guards’ sword. She immediately engaged him as Ugo fought the other one, but the man was no match for the double-wielder and Ugo’s own opponent soon joined his comrades in the land of the dead.

He sheathed his weapon and immediately went to Ghita’s side to make sure she was all right. The first time Ghita had been forced to kill she had emptied the contents of her stomach afterwards, and that night she had cried herself to sleep. She had taken refuge in Ugo’s arms, and for once he hadn’t protested their actions as being inappropriate.

Now, besides being pale and shaky, she was managing to keep it together. It was a relief, since their fight had gained attention from more guards and they had to run.

In the confusion of running and trying to dodge around civilians and objects in their paths, they became separated.

~o~

Ghita almost panicked when she realized that Ugo was nowhere to be seen, but pursed her lips and concentrated on the situation at hand. She would lose these persistent bastardi and then would worry about finding the older man. However, it soon seemed apparent that she wasn’t going to be able to give them the slip, and was forced to stop as an agile guard caught up to her. She feinted right and he moved to intercept, but she went left and cut across with one of her swords. Ghita cursed as the man easily evaded her sword with his quick movements, and as she stopped to confront him it gave the others the chance to catch up as they quickly surrounded her.

She hissed a breath through clenched teeth in frustration. "Well, boys, are you sure you can handle me all by yourselves?" she jeered, but the taunt fell flat. Ghita knew she was in trouble without Ugo’s assistance. There were four of them in total, and they were heavily armed. She held up on drawing her second sword for the moment, and instead pulled a dagger out into her spare hand. If she managed to get past their defenses, then the dagger would serve her better in close quarter fighting.

Her eyes darted between her enemies and waited with baited breath to see who would attack her first. Ghita resolved to only counter for the time being, and she wasn’t above fighting dirty if it managed to keep her alive. The agile one moved first, but he side-stepped her counter move.

_‘Well, fuck.’_

~o~

Ugo didn’t know how he allowed it to happen, and wanted to throttle himself for having lost sight of Ghita. He needed to lose his pursuers and find his charge, but it soon became apparent that he wouldn’t be able to lose them. They were relentless and were advancing on him.

He smirked as the slimmer man overtook him, since he was fast on his feet but as he stopped to face him, Ugo quickly let loose a throwing knife. As the man fell with a gurgling scream, Ugo turned and charged into the remaining soldiers. He swung his mace, shattering his opponent’s sword with the strength behind it, and ducking under the swing of another enemy’s sword. The battle was over after two minutes of carnage, and the rest of the soldiers lay on the ground, either dead or unconscious.

The man usually had to keep his eyes on Ghita, so he could never really let loose his full skills. However, he had needed to end the fight quickly, since he was afraid that something might happen to her. It felt good to cut loose, despite not knowing where his charge was at the present moment.

"Well, fuck," he muttered, hefting his mace easily to rest across his shoulders. "That girl has surely gotten into trouble by now."

He set off to find Ghita.

~o~

Ghita gasped as she saw the heavy weapon come swinging her way, and lifted her sword to block and grunted as it connected with enough force to send her staggering back, and she lost her footing as well as she and her sword hit the ground. She rolled away in a panic when the Brute’s axe nearly carved her in two. The slender girl was up and on him before he could yank the large weapon out of the ground. Her dagger; which was the only thing she had left to defend herself, found an opening between the helmet and the chest plate, sank in with a sickening squelch.  
   
She darted away from an attack of her second opponent before the big man in armor even hit the ground. The other guard wore no armor and was quick on his feet and she had difficulty landing a hit, but grew frustrated and kicked under his defenses to nail him in the groin. As he doubled over in pain Ghita kneed him in the face and he crumpled. She didn’t know if she killed him, but disregarded it as she pilfered both guards’ weapons and fiorini, and went to quickly recover her fallen sword.  
  
As she straightened, the young woman had no time to catch her breath as more guards came, alerted of the fighting. She took one of the stolen daggers, flipped it so she was gripping it by the blade, and flung it with all her might at the approaching guards. The one at the front of the group was dead before he hit the ground, and his corpse tripped up the two that were behind him. Ghita used the distraction to dart into a nearby alley and was able to get lost within the crowd the next street over.

The adolescent made sure to keep alert even when she walked several feet undisturbed, and this damn near saved her life as she heard running footsteps and harsh panting behind her. Ghita ducked and felt the rush of wind against her hair as the sword missed her head by mere inches. She twisted while in her crouch and drove both her daggers into the attacker’s stomach and then mercilessly disemboweled him. The man screamed as he dropped his weapon and used his hands to try and keep his intestines from spilling out of his body.  
  
Ghita was forced to roll forward as the man’s comrades flung throwing knives at her unprotected back. When she straightened, she had to quickly parry the swing of a longer sword, and she was driven back. A well-placed blow by one of their swords knocked her daggers from her hands and she was forced to jump away from another attack.  
  
She had no choice but to draw the heavier sword and defend, but there were five of them against her and soon she was cornered. When one of the guards tried to finish her off, she deflected his attack and she managed to grab him with her arm around his unprotected neck. The others now seemed reluctant to attack with their comrade being used as the meat shield. However, she knew that wouldn’t be the case for much longer, so she knew she had to think of something, and fast. The guard in her grasp tensed and she brought the edge of her sword above her arm to press against his vulnerable neck and he immediately stilled.  
  
One of the others growled at her actions and lunged at her, and Ghita prepared to fight until she was dead. So, she was prepared to take as many of them with her as possible. Her sword deflected the guards’ attack, and when he swung his own weapon she released her hostage, stepped back and kicked him forward. The second guard didn’t kill the other, but managed to wound him enough so he was unable to continue fighting. For a few grueling minutes, she was overwhelmed and could only just barely defend herself. When all seemed to indicate her death, a Grim Reaper in white fell from the heavens.  
  
Although Ghita was aware that someone had jumped in to help her, she didn’t allow herself to get distracted from the fight. She was left with two opponents while the others attacked the newcomer, but even then she was close to exhaustion from the previous fight and her reflexes were starting to slow down. One of the men’s swords just managed to lightly wound her arm and she staggered back to avoid the swing of his comrades’ weapon, and knew she had to quickly think of the strategy.  
  
However, before she could put two thoughts together, a white blur tackled one of her opponents to the ground and impaled a blade from his bracer into his throat. While the second guard was distracted, Ghita lunged forward and drove her sword under his ribs, and thrust it up so it would impale his heart. The man hands’ had come around her neck in attempt to choke her, and now slumped against her and she used what strength she had left to shove his corpse off, his now nerveless fingers easily slipping away from her throat.  
  
Ghita doubled over and she tried to regain her breath as the man dressed in white robes looted the corpses. Her knees buckled and threatened to give way under her, but she refused to collapse because; although, she was a woman, she wasn’t weak. The young woman straightened at last when she could breathe easier and stretched her sore muscles, hissing as the gash on her forearm tore open further and felt blood ooze down almost to her elbow.

She contemplated cutting off her sleeve to be able to better tend to the wound, since the shirt was ruined either way. However, before she could the figure in white came forward and she was able to clearly see him better, and was shocked to realize just who had saved her. "Assassino!" she exclaimed in shock, bowing her head toward him in respect.

"The Liberation of Roma has begun. If you chose to flee, do so now, but if you choose to fight, stand with me against the Borgia."

Ghita was almost insulted that he would even suggest she flee. A long time ago, she had chosen to stop running away. "I’m tired of hiding in the shadows! I will join you!"

The man’s lips twitched as if he would smile but merely placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Then seek Niccolò Machiavelli on Isola Tiberina and we will make you one of us. Their lies will no longer mask your truth."

Then man turned to leave and she looked around quickly and realized that she wasn’t that far away from Isola Tiberina. "So, where exactly is this place? Is it a building, a house, a bordello, what?" she asked as she hurried after him. The man glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, and he was a bit startled as if he hadn’t expected her to follow him. "I’ve been told to go to a piazza and look for a person before, but it was hard because I wasn’t supposed to say his name. Then I had no idea what he looked like, and I had to avoid the guards at the same time. It was a very stressful hour for me. So, I need specific instructions on Machiavelli’s location."

This time the man’s lips did lift into a smile as he chuckled. "Well, by all means, ragazza, follow me," he said, offering his arm to her.

She giggled at the gesture, and slipped her arm around his. "Lead the way, Messere," she said with a grin. They walked toward the bridge that would take them to Isola Tiberina, and on the way there Ghita recounted who she was and who her father had been. Ezio was shocked to find out she was Fedele Gargani’s daughter, since he remembered the man as one of his uncle’s most loyal mercenaries. The man had been there with the older Auditore male since before Ezio, Claudia and Maria Auditore had fled to Monteriggioni when the rest of their family had been murdered.

He had learned from a letter written by his mother that Ugo Ubaldi; apprenticed under Fedele, had taken up the running of the mercenaries in his master’s stead in Firenze. Ezio had assumed that Fedele’s daughter would be there as well, but apparently she’d come to Roma to meet someone. The young woman didn’t offer a name and Ezio wondered at the reason. Well, it was of no consequence at the moment. He’d figure it out sooner or later.

"Where is your father’s apprentice?" he wondered. After the man’s death, then Ugo would be in charge of protecting the girl since Fedele had no other family as far as he knew. Although, after seeing her fight he figured she could take care of herself, but doubted that even then a man trained under Fedele would have likely left her alone in Roma.

Ghita’s shoulders slumped at the mention of the man and Ezio feared the worst. Especially since his family was still in Firenze. "We got separated when we were attacked by the soldiers," she muttered. "I doubt that those stronzi will be able to defeat him, but he might get hurt." A small nostalgic smile lifted the corners of her mouth and Ezio smirked at seeing it. "That idiota is always getting hurt trying to protect me. It’s obvious that I can fight just as well as any man."

"Of that I have no doubt, ragazza," he said to placate her. That’s when they arrived at the Assassin hideout. "This is it." He reached out and opened the door to reveal the steps that lead down to the ground floor. "Are you ready to join us?"

Ghita’s lips pressed into a determined line. "Yes," she practically growled, striding past the door and descending down the steps. Although she was worried about Ugo, she also knew that after a day or two he was likely to come to the Assassins for help in finding her. Until then, she’d get acquainted with her new comrades.-

~o~

_June 8, 1501_

Ugo had a new respect for Ciro and his having been able to keep it together for a whole _year_ without losing his mind while looking for Annetta. Here he was, almost two days without her and he was ready to head to the nearest Borgia tower and start killing people till he found someone that knew where Ghita was. The man hoped once more that Ciro had saved his daughter. The thought of anything else caused bile to rise to his throat.

Thus he found himself standing in front of the door that was rumored to led to the Assassin Brotherhood. It was true that he had taken over the reins in running the mercenaries in Firenze that had survived the siege on Monteriggioni, but he had ever really been an Assassin. Also, he had very little interaction with the Assassins before having relocated to Firenze, since Fedele was always the one that dealt with them while they’d been in Monteriggioni.

So, he was slightly apprehensive in coming to the Assassins’ hideout so suddenly. Especially when he stopped to think that Ciro was considered a traitor to the Brotherhood, and Ugo and Ghita had helped him for months. Then they had sent an urgent missive asking for help, and Ugo was worried they would trace it back to them. If there was one thing Ezio Auditore hated more than anything, it was traitors.

Well, he had to find Ghita, and he’d do anything to find her. So, he steeled himself and knocked on the door. He heard a muffled shout from within that was suspiciously familiar. There was a crash of something breaking, a shouted ‘oops’, and it was followed by running footsteps.

By this point Ugo had covered his face with his hands with a groan of exasperation. When the door was opened by Ghita in a recluta uniform, Ugo wanted to bang his head against the door frame.

"Ugo! You finally made it!" cried Ghita Gargani happily; newest recruit of the Assassin Brotherhood.

That girl would be the death of him.

~o~

_June 22, 1501_

Surprisingly, it was Vittorio –the perpetual anti-social recruit– that started it all; bringing all of them that much closer to being comrades and family. It was early morning, and for once, they were all –except for poor Yeoman that was still bed-ridden– gathered at the breakfast table including the two new additions that were still wary around the others. Fabiola was eating with her impeccable manners and Augusto was obviously ravenous as be scarfed down his food. The duo had just returned from a mission that had them traveling to a farm on the outskirts of Roma.

Their kid was nowhere to be seen along with the child’s nanny, so Vittorio concluded that they had just arrived that morning and hadn’t yet been to see him. As he thought of him, it occurred to Vittorio that Giotto looked like neither Fabiola or Augusto. So, without thinking he opened his mouth.

"Why does your son not resemble either of you?" he asked, cutting across the conversation of the other occupants. It didn’t stay quiet for long.

Augusto choked on the bite of food in his mouth and Fabiola made a sound of disgust as she glanced at him angrily.

"What?" he asked in bafflement. Vittorio didn’t think it was an outrageous question, nor too personal for them to answer. It could be as simple as him resembling his grandfather or another member of the family, and frankly, it had been bugging the hell out of Vittorio. Of course, he’d never admit this out loud.

Fabiola pounded on Augusto’s back as he coughed violently until he finally cleared his airway. "Giotto is not my son!" He wiped his mouth and tried to clean up the mess he’d made as he had been trying to dislodge his airway. "That’s just disgusting," he snarled, while Vittorio just arched a brow at the statement.

"I thought you loved Fabiola and Giotto!" Bianca suddenly blurted at the other side of the table, sitting three seats away from being in front of the duo.

Augusto glanced at her sharply. "Of course I love them," he groused angrily. If he had been a dog, Vittorio was sure his hackles would be raised defensively. As it was, his shoulders were hunched and tense.

Bianca’s lips twisted in an unnamed emotion at his words. "Then there’s no reason to deny yourselves...s-sexual relations," the medic insisted with a blush. Vittorio glanced at the duo and noticed that Fabiola’s face had flushed an interesting magenta, and now Augusto’s face had twisted in disgust.

Ugo and Ghita glanced at one another and scooted a bit closer to the edge of the table. There were thinking that these people were crazy, and wondered at their decision of joining them. The other recruits were watching the exchange like a tennis match, turning from one to another to see their reactions and responses.

"Of course I can’t have relations with Fabiola!" The man was shouting now. Vittorio saw that Desideria was shaking with lips pressed together, but couldn’t distinguish the expression on her face. He thought that she might be in pain as she wrapped an arm around her middle. Meanwhile, Severino was watching the three recruits with mouth and eyes opened wide in shock.

Bianca seemed to be angry on Fabiola’s account as she glared at a fuming Augusto as she stood. "Why the hell not?" she demanded furiously.

Augusto shot to his feet as well, matching Bianca glare for glare. "Because she’s my sister, you crazy woman!"

Said crazy woman’s eyes went comically wide. "She’s your sister?" she asked in shock at the same time that Vittorio exclaimed, "What, you two are actually related?"

Finally, Desideria lost in and Vittorio realized she’d been trying not to laugh, and now she doubled over as peals of hysterical laughter wracked her body. Severino snorted before he started shaking in silent laughter as tears ran down his face before he abruptly turned away. Ugo and Ghita were watching them wide eyed and perfectly still, as if they were wild animals and one wrong move would draw their attention toward them.

An angry Augusto was looking at them with a bewildered look, and by then Fabiola looked like she may hurl but was valiantly trying to hold it together. It was several long minutes before Desideria finally started to calm down, and beside her Severino cleared his throat and wipe at his face as he straightened in his seat. Bianca had turned red in embarrassment, and Vittorio was glad for his mask that partially covered his humiliation.

As the whole lot of them had managed to get under control, Ezio walked into the room. He paused as he looked around as his eyebrows rose in surprise. Desi was wheezing slightly to catch her breath, Severino’s eyes were darting from Ezio to Bianca to Augusto as they stared at one another uncertainly, Ugo and Ghita looking ready to bolt, and Vittorio was... _blushing_?

"Should I be worried?" he inquired to the room at large, and then noticed that Fabiola looked ready to hurl. "Fabiola, please don’t throw up at the table."

The statement set them off once again as Desideria snorted this time as she burst into another round of laughter. It started Severino as well as the two of them clung to one another to keep from toppling over, but since they were both unsteady they ended up on the floor all the while laughing. Fabiola lunged to her feet before stumbling off as she heaved, Bianca let her head fall to the table with a groan as she covered her head with her arms, and Ugo and Ghita stood from the table with wild looks in their eyes. In an effort to ignore them all, Augusto took up his spoon and stubbornly finished his meal.

The master assassin glanced at Vittorio who was indeed blushing underneath his mask. Frankly, he found it strange that he was out here and not at Yeoman’s bedside, but the girl must have kicked him out again. "Do I want to know?" he asked him. Vittorio furiously shook his head and Ezio rolled his eyes, but his face shifted into seriousness a moment later.

"Recluta!" he barked, and he was satisfied as all of them --except Fabiola whom he could still hear hurling violently and Ezio tried to hide a wince–- jumped up to attention. Ezio’s lips twitched as they threatened to lift into a smile, and refrained from ruffling their hair. _‘Such cute little bambinos,’_ he thought fondly. He was glad they were still able to laugh and behave like human beings and had been worried about Desideria and Vittorio, but knew that they were far from being children no matter how much he sometimes saw them that way. They had ceased being _bambinos_ when they had joined the ranks of the Brotherhood.

"We have a mission to complete," he started to explain.

Afterwards, all of them seemed to be closer much to Vittorio’s dismay whom more than ever couldn’t get rid of Severino. When the older man wound up with a black eye as a result of his clinging, he had only grinned wider and declared that he had _known_ Vittorio was his friend. After all, Desideria had also punched Severino in the face before she started being less stiff and scornful around him.

Ezio was content to watch over his cute recruits. They provided him with so much amusement.-

~o~


	26. Far From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long it takes to get to some places while on horseback, so I just guestimated it, lol My muses are back! I think it might be cause I broke up with my significant other that wanted to kill them. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. ¬_¬;

_July 15, 1501_

It was not a secret among the recruits that Ezio and Claudia Auditore were not on speaking terms. The reason for this, however, was unclear, since it was one of those things you had to have witnessed to actually understand. Also, it was doubtful that Ezio would ever talk about it. And no one dared to ask, since the Maestro’s mouth pressed into a bloodless line and the crow’s feet at his eyes became more pronounced whenever Claudia was in the same room. Hell, even when she was mentioned.

When the recruits found out that the man’s next mission to bring down the Borgia involved The Madame of the Rosa in Fiore, they prepared themselves for a week filled with a foul tempered Ezio. So, when the Maestro disappeared for two days they were baffled until a missive arrived via carrier pigeon with missions of them; all of them outside Roma.

It seemed that Ezio had decided to deal with the Borgia by himself, and made sure they were all kept busy so as not to interfere. Also, while they were in teams of two and relatively easy; Ezio had also decided to destroy any familiarity they had gained. Fabiola and Augusto were separated, and Ugo was incensed to discover that Ghita and he had been split apart. And not only that, but Ugo had been given a mission by himself.

So, while Ezio was in a bad mood, it seemed he tended to spread it around (although, they weren’t sure it was intentional where the twins were concerned, since Ezio had been hinting to Fabiola and Augusto that he wanted them to learn to work separate from one another). Regardless, the Fornari twins were less than pleased at the assigned missions, and they weren’t the only ones.

Augusto had been paired with Ghita, and the archer and double-wielder eyed each other up and tried to determine by pure sight how they’d be on a mission. Neither of them had ever worked, or trained together for that matter. Ghita’s actually sneered a bit at not knowing how the giant recruit was like, and Augusto’s right eyebrow ==the one bisected with a scar== lifted in bemusement.

Desi turned to face Vittorio, whom she would be paired with on the mission. The man’s brow furrowed a bit but otherwise had no objections. At least he wasn’t stuck with the insufferable Severino. Although the younger woman was his senior he had no problem with her, since he had spared with her once. She had wiped the floor with him, and he never intended to reveal that to anyone. Also, since Desideria wasn’t one for small talk, he doubted that she would talk about it. Vittorio probably didn’t even register in her mind as a threat after that, and Dio only knew what she thought of him.

His thought turned toward his self-appointed mission. Alejandro had been more than happy to help him despite being asked to help dig up a body in the middle of the night. The thief was just happy that his ‘brother’ was asking him for help, and had figured that it had something to do with The Brotherhood. They had laid Ciro Petaccia to rest besides a great sweeping tree next to the small cottage that he had bought in what seemed a lifetime ago. It was adorned with a simple yet tasteful cross, and when Annetta had recovered enough, he would take her there so she could say her goodbyes to her father-figure.

Vittorio glanced discreetly at the powerhouse that was Severino, and saw him giving Desideria a longing look but the young woman was obviously ignoring him. However, her eyes darted to him when his attention was caught by Fabiola, who was to be his partner in the mission.

The masked man smirked at the two of them. Severino was obviously in love with the sour-faced Desideria, since he never backed off even when he annoyed her to the point that she became violent with him, and she may or may not reciprocate those feelings. It would be interesting to see if anything developed between them as they spent more time together.

The embarrassing scene where it was revealed to some of them that Fabiola and Augusto were siblings had loosened them around one another. However, they were still not use to training together, or going on missions with anyone besides their respective partners. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Ezio had paired them the way he had, and not because he was in a horrible mood and wanted his recruits to be as miserable as him. Probably.

Well, it’d be interesting to see how their missions would turn out.

Vittorio stood with a sigh and walked over toward Desi.

~o~

_July 17, 1501_

As the days passed, Annetta’s health improved to the point that she was even allowed to briefly leave the bed on most days. Of course, that only consisted of walking down the hall and back into the room, and only once a day while under supervision. Niccolò Machiavelli still heavily protested of Ezio placing any trust on her because of her involvement with Ciro. As for Annetta, she thought that Machiavelli could go to hell.

She was counting down the days until she could walk out of there on her own two feet. When that time came, nothing short of death would stop her. Whether she’d leave or not was still undecided, since she had only ever known Roma.

At the moment, she was on one of her supervised walks as Bianca trailed behind her (as always), and she suddenly heard childish giggles coming from an open doorway just ahead. It was strange to see one of the doors open, since every time she had gone walking all of them had remained firmly shut. However, unbeknownst to her, all the recruits had left early yesterday morning on missions and it was Fabiola that always insisted that the door be closed.

Now, with everyone gone, Caterina had left the door open so the room wouldn’t get too stuffy. Summer had come to Italia, and this year the heat was unbearable; especially around noon.

It had been Annetta’s intention to pass by the room and ignore the laughter; however, the source darted out the door and collided with the unsteady woman. Annetta grunted as the small body slammed into her, and instinctively grabbed hold of the boy to keep him from taking a tumble. She used her recently freed hand to steady herself against the wall with a wince as a spasm of pain shot all along her wrist.

Bianca was at her side immediately and Annetta experienced a moment of annoyance, since she thought the dottore was being over exaggerated in her concern for her health. Then Bianca said very firmly, "Let him go," and gently extracted the young boy from her grip.

Annetta was momentarily stunned when she realized that Bianca saw her as a threat toward the child, and felt anger and revulsion coil in her gut. She was sickened that the woman thought she would willingly harm a child, and anger because despite her innate fear to trust, she had to some extent trusted Bianca.

Now, she realized the God-awful truth; Bianca saw her as an enemy. Perhaps, they all did, and they knew who she was because undoubtedly, Vittorio had told them. And Annetta wondered why they had bothered to save her in the first place. She had been so ready to die with Ciro, and they had taken that from her as well.

_‘Why didn’t they just let me die?’_

Annetta frowned and angrily yanked her arm away from where Bianca still held her. The boy gasped and Annetta glanced at him as he stared up at her with wide, caramel eyes. She grudgingly turned away as her heart ached at remembering another boy whose wide, innocent eyes she had watched dim until they were all but dead.

The broken woman shuddered as a sob tried to crawl up her throat, but choked it back and pretended to cough. She hadn’t thought of Alessio in a long time, and once more shoved memories of that sweet boy so deep inside so as not to let them hurt her. Then she turned around and walked back to her room, since the short experience had exhausted her.

As she reached the door, she staggered in her fatigue, and Annetta immediately felt Bianca’s presence at her side once more as she steadied her. Annetta hated her just a bit more at her pity.

She roughly shook her hand off with a growl. "I don’t need your help," she snapped angrily. Annetta pushed the door open with enough force so it slammed into the bookcase and several books and one or two scrolls fell to the floor. However, Annetta paid them no mind as she slowly shuffled to the bed, desperate to get there before she collapsed, since that show of anger had taken a lot out of her.

When she finally made it, she crumpled onto the bed with a whimper. She was gasping harshly, and anyone might have confused the sounds for breathless sobs, but her eyes were completely dry.

Meanwhile, Bianca watched her with apprehension as she curled up while she made those sounds that tore at her heart. However, she didn’t allow the neutral expression to waver, because she could tell that the other hated being pitied. So, Bianca tried to remain as unaffected as possible, but whenever she was alone she wept a little over the broken creature those monsters had reduced Yeoman to.

Despite Niccolò’s distrust toward the young woman, Bianca couldn’t help feeling protective, and wanted to defend her from the world at large. Hell, even when little Giotto had slammed into her, she had immediately sprung to her side. Bianca had noticed that Yeoman was violently fearful of physical contact, so Bianca had pried the boy from her hold before she could hurt him or herself trying to get away.

Although, she had been too late, and had seen several emotions she couldn’t identify flash across her pale face. Yeoman had looked at the boy for a moment, and then her features had shifted into a blank expression before she turned and went back to her room.

Bianca wished that Yeoman would talk to her or at least get use to her presence, but nothing she did seemed to have a positive effect on her. She was growing desperate with every passing day, and Bianca might continue pushing her until Yeoman snapped at her. Bianca may just end up yelling at Yeoman.

Well, time would tell.

~o~

_July 17, 1501_

They were making good time as they rode toward Firenze, and would likely arrive in two days’ time. It wasn’t too much of a time sensitive mission so they had some leeway, but it wouldn’t do to dawdle and prolong their journey. Also, Vittorio knew that Desideria would be angry if he slowed her down.

Desideria was the first recruit and thus the one with the most training, so she was the leader in any mission taken. Also, Vittorio had spared with her once, and she had wiped the floor with him. Luckily, no one had seen, and Desi tended to keep everything to herself. So, it was doubtful she’d say anything, and he was keeping his mouth shut on his humiliating loss.

Thus far he noticed that she hadn’t said anything, and the few words she’d spoken had been mission related. This was fine by him, since he didn’t have anything to say.

So, as they stopped to rest for the night, he was surprised as she finally spoke. "How is Yeoman doing?" she asked quietly. It had surprised him at first how much of a soft, soprano voice she had when she wasn’t growling at Severino or snapping out a terse reply. Her mannerisms were rough, so one would assume that she had a voice to match.

Vittorio grunted in reply as he continued to set up camp and neither of them spoke until he’d gotten a fire started.

"His health is improving every day," he finally said.

Desi had thought he wasn’t going to answer her, and when Vittorio finally spoke she could tell he wanted to say more. He was struggling with himself, since he had always distanced himself from them. Desideria could understand, since she had been the same way when Severino had first joined and encroached upon her training with the Maestro. She had just lost Alessio not even a month ago, and the Maestro had invited this weakling (in her opinion at the time, and at times still), this stranger to be in close proximity with her.

So, she had distanced herself, and when Severino had tried to get close she had lashed out at him. Eventually she’d gotten use to the big, annoying lump, and when Vittorio had joined them she had seen the same grief in him that had been inside of her at one point. He was on a path of self-destruction and wanted to keep them at arm’s length, but once more Severino had imposed his unique personality upon the poor man.

The fact that he had answered her (and that _she_ had even asked such a thing) indicated that Severino was good at dragging them =fighting him every step of the way= out of their depressive shells.

Desideria nodded with a hum but said nothing further, since she knew that if he wanted to say what was on his mind then he would. She would listen if he did, and accept it if he didn’t say anything else. After all, Desideria was _not_ Severino.

Finally, after they had prepared a quick meal and they had eaten and Desi had almost forgotten, Vittorio spoke.

"He doesn’t trust anyone," he muttered. The ‘even me’ went unsaid, but it hung in the air between them; heavy and tense.

Desi’s sardonic snort shattered the oppressive silence, and she chose to ignore his slight flinch. "Of course he doesn’t. I wouldn’t trust anyone either." She shrugged and tossed a large piece of firewood, and several embers sprung up and floated in the air before a light breeze carried them off.

"He’ll eventually grow to trust us, or he’ll run away at the first chance he gets." Vittorio looked at her with slightly wide eyes, and she briefly wondered what kind of expression he was making under his mask. She grinned at him. "It’s a very likely possibility," she affirmed with another careless shrug, turning her attention to stoking the fire. "Whether Niccolò lets him leave is another matter."

The man frowned. "What about Ezio?" he inquired. Desideria had never heard Vittorio refer to the Master Assassin as Maestro before. Well, since the Maestro hadn’t corrected him, then she wouldn’t either.

Desideria shook her head. "The Maestro wouldn’t keep him with us against his will. I doubt he sees Yeoman as a threat." The young woman paused as she frowned in thought. "Although, there is something that troubles him about Yeoman."

Afterwards, neither of them spoke for the rest of the night, but Vittorio couldn’t help but think that Desi was pretty observant of those around her. And he’d been thinking that she didn’t care about any of them; Ezio included.

Well, it seemed that he’d been wrong.

Vittorio would have to be careful not to slip up and accidentally reveal Annetta’s true gender. He didn’t understand her need to hide both her gender and name, but would keep her secrets. Vittorio would try his hardest not to disappoint her again.

~o~

Severino was in a bad mood.

This was actually a rare occasion these days, and since joining the Brotherhood he had always tried to find a positive spin in any situation. It didn’t always work but Severino never let it get him down, and this is a man that had been happy when he’d been punched _twice_ by two of his fellow recruits.

Sure he could see the silver lining in every rain cloud, but at the moment Severino was just miserable.

He was on a boat, and every time there was a strong wave, he felt a strong wave of _nausea_ twist his insides. So, he not only had an empty stomach, but the dry heaves still wouldn’t stop and his throat hurt from the stomach bile he’d puked up.

Also, Fabiola and Severino were supposed to pretend they were newlyweds, and act the part. Severino really couldn’t bring himself to do it, and the one kiss they’d been forced to fake had filled him with so much guilt. It wasn’t even that Fabiola had given him a look like he was something disgusting she had accidentally stepped on (thankfully, no one but Severino had seen the look), but the image of Desideria’s face that had invaded his mind when they’d kissed.

Severino had been sent reeling with the revelation that he had wanted to kiss Desi instead of Fabiola.

Although, he’d be shocked if he would have felt the desire to kiss either one of them, since in the time that Fabiola had joined the Brotherhood his life had been a bit hellish. The two women had made his life impossible, so it was no wonder that he was shocked that he wanted to kiss Desi, one of his tormentors! And the feeling had come out of nowhere!

However, if Severino was honest with himself, he may have thought about it a few times. In passing, and very briefly!

Now that he’d admitted it, he didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t do anything at the moment while stuck in the middle of the ocean, and he was far too sick to think clearly at the moment anyways. Also, Fabiola kept shooting him death glares every so often as she wiped her mouth for the twentieth time.

It was _not_ a good day for Severino Sabelli.

~o~

_July 21, 1501_

The first thing Augusto noticed about Ghita was that she liked to talk. It wasn’t that she was a motor-mouth or anything, but when she did speak she expected people to listen. As for Augusto, he hadn’t realized how use to Fabiola’s silence he had gotten. Even before her traumatizing experiences, she had barely spoken due to her shyness. While his sister was no longer that timid girl that had endured years of abuse, she had all but become a mute.

Augusto had never asked whether she had taken a vow of silence or if it were something altogether different. Now he had grown to just accept that he would never hear her sweet voice again. He doubted he’d recognize it after all this time if he heard it now.

As he thought of this, Matteo came unbidden to his thoughts, and everything his sister had lost. Of course, Augusto had also lost a friend as well and felt regret that he had been so hostile toward the man from the beginning. For a while after his death Augusto had wondered if Matteo had thought him a nuisance, or an obstacle between Fabiola and him. Then Giovanni had laid his worries to rest.

_‘Matteo, hate you?’ The archer laughed as the others joined in, and Augusto was annoyed because it felt like they were laughing at him!_

_Augusto grunted as Domenico’s large hand slapped him on the back. ‘You don’t hate your kid brothers, you just beat on them a little, and love them and their annoying ways!’_

_The young man had coughed at the ‘kid brother’ part, but thought that perhaps they could have been as tight as brothers if that bastard Ottavio hadn’t intruded on their_ _happiness. His brother..._

Augusto cleared his mind of the past, and things that couldn’t be undone. Matteo and Ottavio both were gone, and they had to move forward; _he_ had to move forward.

As the sun set in the west, he closed his eyes and settled back in a more comfortable position. The caravan would arrive at their destination in two more days and he wanted to get some rest. Thus, he allowed the swaying of the carriage to lull him to sleep.

~o~

_11:36pm_

Augusto was startled out of his slumber as the carriage violently lurched to a stop, and it was followed by a pained grunt before something heavy hit the ground. His gaze snapped to Ghita and saw that she was awake, her dark eyes gleaming in the dark as she gave him the briefest of nods. The man saw the momentary flash of metal as she silently drew her sword, since he knew that like Augusto, she slept with her dagger unsheathed at all times.

He wished he had his crossbow with him, but they had to leave it behind so as to be discreet. While swords even in the hands of a woman wouldn’t have caused too much a ruckus in these dangerous times, but the heavy crossbow would have garnered more suspicion. Although, if it came down to it then he’d steal one of the caravan drivers, since from the sounds of things, their driver was already dead.

The crunch of footsteps was heard and Augusto tensed in anticipation, since he was the one closest to the slightly open flap. So, as the bandit stuck his head inside, the recruit slid the blade of his dagger along his throat as he stiffened and stopped moving.

"How many are in your group?" he hissed quietly, letting the weapon’s sharp edge slightly nick the vulnerable flesh in warning.

"The’re eight includin’ meself," he quickly told him. Augusto couldn’t identify his accent, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run.

They heard the cries from the family of six in the first caravan, and Augusto growled angrily when he remembered that there were three young girls within the family. His gaze flicked to the double-wielder and she bared her teeth in an angry sneer. The skeleton of the caravan was made of wood, but over it was draped a strong, coarse canvas. So, it was easy for Ghita to use her dagger to cut a hole in the side of the cloth, and moments later she disappeared from view.

Meanwhile, Augusto had dragged the man inside, knocking him out in the same motion, and then tied and gagged him in case he woke up. These were more than likely the bandits they had been sent to eliminate, so they’d need one of them alive to interrogate. He left through the same hole Ghita had made to find her waiting for him. She had cut away the long skirt she had been wearing to reveal the trousers she had underneath. "We spread out and take them out one by one," he whispered. The bandits had torches, but the shadows made by the caravan hid them from view as they crouched beneath it. Augusto flinched as he heard a wail. "Hurry."

They darted into the darkness in opposite directions, and the sun had sucked any dampness from the ground that had become wet from an early morning rain. So, he wasn’t given away by the squelch of mud, and made sure he didn’t accidentally kick any stray rocks to give away his position. Although, Augusto doubted he’d be heard over the screams.

He came upon a bandit that was trying to forcefully remove the clothes from one of the young girls. She was yelling for help as she fought him desperately. Augusto wondered if his own sister had cried for him, and his lips pulled back into a snarl. He _hated_ rapists.

"Nobadis goh saiv yo’!" he cackled gleefully. Her dress tore and she screamed.

Augusto lunged forward, plunging his sword through his back until it came out of his chest in a spray of blood that unfortunately splattered all over the girl. He didn’t brother saying anything to the _dead man_ as he yanked the blade out and the corpse crumpled to the ground. "Quickly, hide behind the boulders," he instructed. The gargantuan rocks were scattered along the side of the incline that swooped down twenty feet to the river.

The girl recognized him from the ‘couple’ of the second caravan, so obeyed as she hurried away and hid. Augusto kicked the body so it started to roll down the incline until it came to a stop inches from falling into the river. He moved on, killing a thief looting the caravan, and he noticed that the screams had started to gradually fade away. He hoped it was because Ghita had started to kill the bandits, and not that the bastards had started to kill the family.

As he dispatched a third one in the process of committing rape he heard the hoot of an owl, and moments later Ghita melted from the shadows and was at his side. "Three," he stated.

"Four," she confirmed, since with the captive bandit made eight. "Any stranglers?" She shook her head and he nodded. "Bene," he murmured and then hesitated. "...casualties?"

Ghita’s lips twisted as she dropped her gaze. "Both the drivers are dead...and the youngest daughter." Her hands clenched around the hilts of her weapons. "I couldn’t get to her. She looks like she was barely eleven summers."

Augusto’s eyes fluttered shut in a moment of grief before they snapped open as he straightened. "We’ll have to bury them nearby, and then get the caravan moving again. Then it’ll be time to have a more thorough chat with our friend." He sheathed his sword at his side. "After we find their hideout we eliminate them one by one."

She gave a sharp nod, not trusting her voice at the moment. Ghita felt like such a failure at not being able to reach that child in time to save her. They would make them pay for all the people they had harmed.

~o~

_July 22, 1501_

The hideout was little more than tents clustered around a few fires, but there were more solid builds surrounding them. From what they had learned from the bandit, they were just starting to build more permanent dwellings. It was a valley surrounded on all sides by the mountains, and only one way in and out. That was guarded by two guards hidden from sight behind several boulders placed strategically on the sides of the single road. Also, there was a ledge against the cliff face on the right side that had an archer keeping watch.

From where they had hidden themselves they could see the archer keeping watch, and the rope from which the man could climb down or up. They had driven the horses hard to get there before dawn, but there had been no other place close enough besides the boulders that were lined along the road and shielded that the bandits’ hideout from being seen.

"It would be better if we were to approach at night, kill the archer and the guards, so they won’t sound the alarm. Then we go tent to tent and kill them while they sleep." Ghita frowned at the last part, since she didn’t like the idea of killing these men while they were warm in their beds. "They don’t deserve mercy," he snapped, that dead girl’s eyes at the forefront of his mind; his sister’s tortured gaze. "They didn’t show that child mercy, so why should they get it?"

Ghita flinched and her lips twisted in distress. "I know that, but I’d prefer a fair fight. This method has no honor." She liked to be able to face her opponent in battle before killing them. It was the only thing that made sense to her instead of just senseless killing.

Augusto had no time for talk of honor, or any kind of moral code. "You’re an Assassino!" he hissed fiercely. "A blade in the crowd that no one ever sees coming. This is who we are, and what you decided to be when you joined."

He started to check over the crossbow he’d stolen from one of the dead bandits, since he didn’t want it to malfunction at the wrong possible moment. "If you cannot do it, then I shall go alone," he stated calmly. He would certainly not force her into anything.

Ghita sighed and shook her head, pulling out her two swords as she tested the balance of the stolen one. She couldn’t risk bringing two, since wearing one was pushing it but had stolen the second from one of the deceased. The balance wasn’t perfect, but she wouldn’t have to adjust her grip too much. They hadn’t wanted to look suspicious by carrying more weapons than necessary, since the drivers of the caravan may not let them come along. While they hadn’t expected to be attacked, it had been a strong possibility, and if they hadn’t they may not have found this place.

Augusto watched her for a few moments before nodding slowly, and started to check his supplies. "Make sure to check your medical supplies." He did as well and both perusals determined that they had enough to attend any minor injuries for them both, and combined it’d be enough for one major injury.

Also, all of the recruits had been shown by Bianca how to properly clean and dress a wound, and check the wound for any foreign objects before cauterizing. While she had also shown them how to stitch a wound closed, it was likely that in an emergency it’d be easier and quicker to cauterize. While they wouldn’t ever be able to say they could replace Bianca since her knowledge of medicines and poisons was unrivaled, but it was reassuring for them to know little bit. After all, Bianca wouldn’t always be around or any dottore for that matter.  
  
They moved in at sundown, and it was slow as they tried to prevent the man on the ledge from seeing them. Finally, they took out the two guards on the ground, and Augusto took aim and took out the archer as his body fell from above. Ghita climbed the rope leading up as Augusto looted and hid the bodies in case anyone came upon them.  
  
When Ghita was at ground level once more, she handed Augusto extra bolts for his crossbow, and showed him the bell they most likely used those in the hideout of intruders. It would be risky to leave it, and destroying it may cause too much noise. In the end, Ghita dug a hole and dropped it in before covering it back up, and dragged a large rock over it as an extra precaution.  
  
They snuck into the hideout and the layout they had persuaded out of their prisoner had mostly been right. They saw that they were indeed starting to build more permanent structures, and from him they had also gotten a more or less count on their numbers; at least forty, possibly more. This was bigger than their original Intel had led them to believe, and the best thing to do would be to call reinforcements. It was dangerous for the two of them to attempt this mission alone, and may not succeed before they had to flee, if they could survive long enough to flee.　  
  
It was also highly likely that if left unchecked, the bandits would build an impenetrable fortress nestled in the valley, and protected by the mountain terrain surrounding it. If left alone any longer, in a weeks’ time they would have tighten security, and in a months’ time they would be unstoppable.  
  
So, Augusto and Ghita couldn’t leave. It was too late to call for reinforcements, and they couldn’t wait. It had to be tonight. The recruits had the element of surprise on their side. They may not get another chance.  
  
First, they meticulously took out the four archers that were situated along the cliff face of the mountain. The two of them split up and moved along the shadows cast by the mountain, extinguishing any torches in their way.  
  
Ghita came to her first target and was relieved at seeing the latter that led up to the ledge. That meant the others would also have an easy way to reach the ledges. So, she quickly climbed and heard the archer pause in his movements.  
  
"Is’t time teh chang' shiv ‘ready?" he asked in surprise. As she neared to top, she stopped before he would see her, and as he peered over the edge, she struck like cobra with her hidden blade. As the man’s wide eyes met hers, she yanked the blade out and shoved him with the same hand so he toppled to the side instead of forward and over the edge. She didn’t need him falling where someone could see his body, and after breaking the latter with a swift kick, she moved onto her second target.  
  
Ghita caught sight of the signal across the valley, a flicker of light followed several others in a distinct rhythm. That meant that Augusto had already taken out his two archers as well, and hurried onto her last archer as she eliminated him in the same way as the first. Of course, it would be easier for him since he had his crossbow to facilitate the job.  
  
Augusto moved systematically from tent to tent to check for any sleeping bandits, and ruthlessly slit their throats before moving on. While he did that, Ghita laid a trail of gunpowder to a larger bag of gunpowder and shrapnel. They would just have to lure the patrols to that one spot without giving away their positions. It was a possibility that they’d end up fighting, but wanted to make sure to bring down their numbers first.  
  
Then the worst happened; Augusto was spotted as he was leaving the tent and a shout of warning was given followed shortly after by the clash of metal against metal. Ghita cursed where she was still setting up the trap, and knew she’d have to detonate it now. The scuffle would bring more attention from anyone still asleep, and soon her fellow recruit would be overwhelmed. It was all quickly spiraling out of control.  
  
Ghita hid behind one of the half-finished buildings as the sound of a single pair of running feet was heard. There were several close by, but this one was her bait. She twisted low, pivoting on the balls of her feet and slashed across his knees. He screamed as he fell, and she wasted no time in sheathing her sword and grabbing him by the back of his shirt as she dragged him into position. She tied the bag of gun powder and shrapnel at his back while he was too dazed to notice, and leaned him sideways against a wall where the trail of gunpowder started.  
  
She quickly and mercilessly brought her booted foot down on his knee, and there was a pop as it was dislocated as the man howled in pain. Ghita quickly darted away as she heard more bandits approach, attracted by their comrade’s screams. There was a narrow alleyway that someone with broad shoulders wouldn’t be able to pass through, but it was wide enough for her is she stood at an angle. She had dragged a few crates to block it from view, and that’s where she ducked behind as she watched the bandits start to surround the injured man. When there was at least a dozen, she struck the flint toward the gunpowder.  
  
The sparks ignited it frighteningly quick and it ate away the flammable gunpowder. Ghita ducked behind the crates as a warning shout came too late, and the bag of gunpowder and shrapnel exploded as the men were thrown back. She wasn’t left unscathed as she was flung onto her back from the force of the explosion.  
  
She bit back a cry as she sat up, and realized that some of the shrapnel had gone through the wooden crates and had embedded into her shoulder where it met her arm. There was a ringing in her ears as she staggered to her feet, and although she wanted to lie down for a while, it wasn’t meant to be. She bit back the bile that crawled up her throat, swallowing reflectively.  
  
Ghita forced herself to move, since she didn’t know where Augusto was or if he had been within the range of the explosion. She leaned against the wall of another incomplete building, and waited a moment or two for the ringing to stop. When it had faded somewhat, she moved from building to incomplete building as she set them on fire while keeping an eye out for Augusto.

She was quickly spotted and had to engage in battle, but had known it was inevitable. The fires would eliminate any shadows she could have potentially hid in, and Ghita suddenly found herself surrounded by at least a dozen bandits. Also, the piece of shrapnel moved and caused her further pain and injury, so she had limited range of motion in her left arm. While she could move the arm, it was painful to hold the heavier sword or moved it forward or outward too much. Thus she was using a dagger gripped in that hand, but had to be really close to use it. Soon she was overwhelmed.

Ghita gasped as enemy that was giving her trouble was downed by a crossbow bolt, and a second one was hit before the bandits realized what was happening. Ghita darted close to an opponent that was looking around for the archer, and drove the dagger into his chest to the hilt. She swung her sword in a wide arch to cut across the throat of a bandit that was within arms’ reach, and both men fell as she moved to the next enemy.

As the last bandit fell Ghita was left panting in exhaustion surrounded by corpses, and lifted her uninjured arm to wave so Augusto could see her. He was on the ledge far to the left, and if he hadn’t already gotten down then he would see her signal. It was becoming hard to breathe since she was among the burning buildings, so she quickly left the area.

A coughing spasm racked her body when she left the smoke filled area; her lungs try to expel the smoke she had inhaled. She took several moments to regain her breath before she continued toward the entrance of the hideout. Ghita stopped when she arrived and looked around, and was relieved when Augusto appeared, limping but alive. When he faltered, she hurried to support him and sighed as he took the weight off his injured right leg. There were bandages hastily wrapped around his leg that hid a five inch long gash, and the blood on the bandages suggested that it was still bleeding. It would most likely have to be cauterized or stitched up.

Augusto had to be attended to first since he was losing blood, and Ghita figured that her own injury could wait. However, first they would have to get away from there in case the smoke alerted any allies nearby, or some bandits had escaped the massacre. They hurried as much as possible back to the caravan, but it was slower due to Augusto’s injured leg.

As Augusto struggled into the back, Ghita hurried toward the road a few feet away, since they had parked the caravan in a niche that would hide it from the hideout and the road as well.

"Cazzo!" She could see approaching torch light further down the road, as well as the sound of pounding hooves of several horses. "Augusto, we have to go, now!" She ran back and gave him a swift shove in the ass that sent him tumbling inside with a pained cry. "Sorry!"

Ghita sprinted for the drivers’ side, climbing in as she ignored her injury, and took the reins and snapped them. The horses whinnied in pain and launched into a gallop. They hit the road with a sharp lurch and Ghita turned southward. The moon gave her enough light to keep from going into the river, but not enough to successfully avoid any holes in the road. Ghita grit her teeth as she hit the third hole, and knew that too many of that would result in a damaged axle.

Meanwhile, the men on horseback had caught up to them, a good twenty men, but she knew in their current condition they wouldn’t even be able to handle five. So, they had to outrun them or get close to the next city that they gave up the chase as too risky.

Ghita hissed as a flaming arrow whizzed over her head, and another passed so close that she felt the heat on her face. She swerved the caravan to slam into a rider that had come on the side and tried to climb into the drivers’ seat. The man as well as another that had followed fell into the raging river below, but soon they left it behind and only a steep drop into darkness was seen.

As Ghita drove the carriage, Augusto had been kept busy trying to shoot the moving targets with his crossbow. However, he only had ten bolts left, and the caravan was moving too much for him to get a good shot and only managed to take out four targets. As the enemy started shooting arrows with the tips on fire, Augusto had been doing his best to knock the projectiles out of the air with his sword, or put out the fire if one of the arrows managed to hit.

Then the caravan abruptly lurched to the side ==most likely to dislodge an enemy rider trying to climb onto the caravan== and Augusto was sent rolling with a yell. He hissed as the gash tore open a bit more, and a fresh rush of blood stained the bandages further red. As he managed to sit up, a bandit jumped from the saddle and grabbed hold of the side of the caravan. Augusto surged forward to drive his sword into his stomach, twisting the hilt and when he fell away he yanked his weapon back. While he’d been dealing with that enemy, another had jumped onto the other side and managed to climb in and threw himself at Augusto.

The recruit grunted as the man landed at him, catching hold of his wrist to keep him from stabbing him with his dagger. The other forced the knife down, and Augusto stained to keep it away from his chest. It seemed the other would succeed, but the caravan jerked to the side once more, and the bandit was dislodged and went tumbling across the floor of the caravan. Augusto let the momentum take him, managing to release his own dagger, and when they slammed together against the side Augusto stabbed him one, two, three times in quick succession before he could recover. The man shuddered and was still, or at least, as still as a corpse could be in the back of a careening caravan. Augusto managed to crawl away and toward the front of the caravan, since it was moving too much to try standing.

As he reached his destination, he climbed the tied down barrels of gunpowder and standing on them, he cut a hole at the top. He made it wide enough for his shoulders to get through, and before pushing through he saw more bandits jump into the back. Ghita grabbed him as he clamored down beside her and was nearly sent flying as they hit another hole in the road.

"Get on the horses!" he shouted desperately. She nodded, tying off the reins and starting to climb over toward the horses. Augusto glanced back as he did as well, and a sickening feeling of terror washed over him as an arrow hit and the caravan ignited quickly. "Go! **_Go!_** " The man scrambled the last few inches onto the horse, a white stallion, and Ghita finally made it onto the dark brown one. Then they both frantically cut the harness and the straps, both forgetting their injuries in the rush of fear and adrenaline.

Finally, it was free and they turned around, leaning as far forward as possible, and urging the animals to go faster. Meanwhile, the whole caravan was on fire by that point, and suddenly...

**BOOM!**

The force of the explosion knocked the stallions forward as both recruits went careening through the air. They roughly landed on opposite sides of the road as what remained of the caravan rushed past in a flash of light and heat, and Augusto scrambled for purchase of something as he tumbled over the side. He grunted as he slammed into a rock, but held on for dear life, the pitch black abyss yawning beneath him.

The burning caravan crashed into the side of the mountain and suddenly everything was still, and only the sound of the crackling fire was heard for a few moments. Then the screams of dying men were heard, and Augusto’s heart was beating frantically in his chest as he slowly climbed back onto the road. He rolled the last few feet, gasping as he lay on his back for a moment before forcing himself to stand, and winced as his bruised ribs protested the movement.

"GHITA!" He paused a moment to cough violently and moaned as his sensitive ribs were jarred once more. "GH-ack!" He was tackled from the side, and the air was knocked out of him as his attacker climbed off him. It was a lone bandit, one half of his face badly burned, and blood blossoming on his shirt over his stomach showed he was gravely injured.

"Assassino scum!" he snarled, raising his sword to deliver a killing blow. Augusto fumbled for his sword, but it was gone.

The man grunted an instant later, the weapon dropping from his hand as his hands went to his chest. First it was the blood, followed by the tip of a sword that was pushed out in a spray of more blood.

"Actually, we’re just novices at the moment," Ghita said calmly as her face appeared over his shoulder. "But an easy mistake to make." She ripped out the sword, and the bandit crumbled to the side. He lay at her feet as he wheezed for breath for a few seconds, and then he was dead.

"How badly are you hurt?" She had come to crouch at Augusto’s side. Ghita wanted to leave, but she was in a lot of pain and her left arm was a bit numb by that point. Also, she knew that Augusto’s wound was probably still bleeding, and he may be even more injured now.

Augusto sat up with a hiss. "The gash in my left leg tore further, and my ribs hurt a lot." Although he hated to admit to any weakness, Ezio had strictly forbidden them from hiding injuries from their teammates. An untreated wound could jeopardize a mission and the lives of your fellow recruits.

Ghita reached forward and started to gently peel away the bloody bandages. She used some water from the canteen she had managed to conserve in the fall to wash away the excess blood. "Damn it, that needs stitches," she sighed, glancing behind her as the screams of the injured bandits had started to die away. She didn’t feel secure doing it in the middle of the road, but they had no choice. Also, the fire would give her enough light, since dawn was too far away for them to wait until then.

It was a painful process for Augusto, especially since she had to remove several pebbles that had managed to get inside the loose bandages. Bianca had been adamant of leaving no foreign objects in the wound before stitching it up, since it would cause a strong infection that many doctors weren’t equipped to deal with. It could also be caused by dirty hands apparently.

They had no soap, but a quick search of the bandit’s corpses had turned up some strong liquor. Augusto took a quick swig before Ghita used it on the gash and then her hands. The stitching took almost ten minutes as Augusto had grit his teeth. Finally, she leaned back on her haunches as she wiped the sweat from her face with the sleeve of her shirt. Now, it was her turn.

Ghita had to open her shirt, and Augusto had tried not to look at anything, or Ugo would likely gouge his eyes out. Then he had to dig out the piece of metal lodged in her shoulder as she moaned softly in pain. He got it at last, and she sighed in relief. As they gathered what they could from the wreckage and the corpses, she started to get feeling back in her hand little by little. Ghita wasn’t to know that the metal had been pressing dangerously against a nerve, and left alone any longer would have caused irreparable damage.

When they had salvaged what they could, both recruits went in search of the horses but only found the dark brown stallion. Augusto told her that the poor beast had probably gone over the edge, since Augusto had almost suffered the same fate.

Between the two of them they had enough fiorini for a dottore to check their wounds, and perhaps a few supplies at the next town. They wouldn’t linger in case those bandits had allies there, and they changed out of their uniforms just in case. Also, both would make sure to keep their arm bracers hidden. Augusto and Ghita were too injured at the moment to engage in another fight.

They could only hope that the rest of their trip back to Roma was uneventful.-

~o~


	27. Death Before Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say except, blame the muses. They're easily distracted by shiny things, and it's so hard to keep them on track. Also, I've been correcting mistakes on the other chapters, and that takes some time as some of them are really long. So, I've decided to cut back on the length of each chapter from now on. 5,000 to 6,000 max on each chapter. So, without further ado, the chapter. Enjoy.

_June 21, 1501_

Ugo had been in a bad mood since he left Roma, so it was a good thing he was going solo on this mission or any partner he may have would have suffocated him in his sleep by this point. And it wasn't that he was a person that was standoffish like Desideria and Vittorio, but he was a person that always demanded the best.

He put everything into his training and thus expected everyone else to do the same. The same could be said when it came to missions, whether they be major or minor; it didn't matter. While some would think him a perfectionist, he say that he wanted things done right the first time. That was especially true for missions. The element of surprise was always a good thing to have as Assassini.

Ugo could admit that at times one had to be flexible in a mission, but a person had to put all the effort into completing the mission. It wasn't necessary to sacrifice your life in carrying out a mission, but one had to be willing to do so if it saved the lives of your Assassin brothers, or innocents. That's how his Maestro Fedele had taught him, and then gave his life for. So, it was what Ugo lived by as well, and would expect no less from his comrades.

Due to being trained effectively by his maestro Fedele, Ezio ==after an thorough assessment of his skills== had given him the rank of Discepolo, which put him one rank above his first two recruits, Desideria and Severino. This had caused a stir among the others, since he was just joining while some of them had been there longer. It wasn't helped when Ghita had been given the rank of Servitore, which put her on the same rank as the masked recruit; Vittorio.

Well, he was surprised that she hadn't gotten a higher rank since she had been training with the sword from an early age. Also, Ciro had trained her extensively in her double-wielding. Ugo was glad that this bit of information had not been revealed yet, but had been thinking of revealing it to Ezio before it was discovered. It was better that he knew from him than another source. Especially if that source painted them in a less than favorable light.

Despite his bulky build, he moved silently through the compound, avoiding the patrol with ease. As he entered the house, he realized that it was lightly guarded, since they probably assumed no one would be able to by-pass the two patrols circling the property. Even the guard outside of the bedroom was fast asleep in a chair by the door. Such carelessness, but it would benefit him.

The room was dark, but the moon provided enough light to maneuver the opulent room without bumping into anything. As he got to the bed, he stood a moment over his slumbering target with his wife at his side. She wasn't to be touched.

It had been specified that the death had to look natural, and no traces of foul play. Ugo had thought that suffocation would be ideal, but then the wife would likely wake up and he couldn't kill or harm her. So, that had left the only option available; poison.

Before leaving Roma, he had gone to Bianca as the resident dottore and asked her to provide him with an undetectable poison to complete his mission. She had gotten a weird look on her face before telling him to get permission from the Maestro first. Ugo had been baffled by the request, but had dutifully gone. Then Ezio's face had taken on a strangely pained expression before scribbling a quick note and handing it Ugo for Bianca. He didn't know what it had said, since it wasn't meant for him, but she had immediately sent him to buy opium seeds and where exactly he would be able to find them. Ugo left as she hustled around her work area, Yeoman unnaturally still in the bed in the corner.

When he returned, she had snatched the small bottle he had and quickly added exactly seven seeds to whatever concoction she had been mashing together. Bianca sent him out of the room, and he had waited outside of the room for around ten to fifteen minutes.

The door finally opened and she shoved into his hand a very small bottle that couldn't contain more than ten drops of a light green liquid. When he had expressed his concern, she had reassured him that two drop would suffice. She had also warned that he keep the bottle closed until he was ready to use it, and to not inhale any of the vapors in, or to even let it get on his skin. Ugo had made sure to put it inside his pouch wrapped in a wad of bandages for safety. He didn't want to accidentally poison himself if it was as potent as she claimed it was.

Ugo had noticed Bianca's hands had been shaking, and that she looked immensely relieved to be rid of the poison. He didn't know her reasons for not liking to make the poison and didn't want to ask. After all, Ugo didn't know her too well.

Now he uncapped the small bottle, carefully positioning it over the man's ear before slowly tipping it. His hand was steady as he let two drops fall into his ear. Bianca had told him that this was the most inconspicuous way to administer besides the eyes or nose. The nose was angled all wrong, and he hadn't wanted to accidentally wake his target by peeling back an eyelid.

He immediately straightened the bottle before capping it. Ugo then stepped back and further into the shadows and closer to the door. The man paused at the door and waited.

A moment later the man seized as his spine arched up off the bed, startling his wife awake as his movements shook the entire bed. He shuddered violently for several moments as the woman tried to get him to respond, but as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The man's body went slack as he flopped back down into the bed and was still; too still.

As she shook him, Ugo slipped out of the room and into the empty one beside it. He closed the door as the woman slammed the bedroom door open, waking the guard as she called for help. Ugo crept to the window, making sure the curtain kept the guards from seeing him, but he could see them. The two patrols were rushing inside, attracted by the noise and when the last one had entered, Ugo opened the window and climbed out. He closed it before starting to climb down, jumping the last three feet before sprinting toward the six-foot wall that surrounded the property.

He jumped, and using his hands he caught the top of the wall, before heaving himself easily over it. Ugo landed on the other side in a crouch, and paused a moment to make sure there was no one out this late at night. Then he once more ran across the road, and then down the hill to where he'd left his horse tied up twenty feet away. He had tied the mare onto an old, broken fence that the animal would have surely snapped if it had tried to get free. A precaution in case he had been killed. It wouldn't have happened, but it was always good to err on the side of caution.

Ugo heaved himself onto the saddle after untying the reigns, and then urged his horse into a trot and then a gallop. He had a boat to catch back to Roma after all.

Mission accomplished.

~o~

_June 22, 1501_

They had arrived in Firenze on the 19th due to Desi refusing to stop too long during the night. It was fortunate that they did since they had been able to find out that their mission had turned into a time sensitive one. The shipment hadn't been due to even arrive yet and they had been tasked with finding out the date, and afterwards they would change the date to suit their benefit. It was simple, really.

Now they had to intercept the courier, distract him and replace the original message with their own. The recruits had had to make sure that the courier never realized that the missive had been changed. With Vittorio's pick-pocketing skills it had been easy. So, they arrived at the safe house to turn over the information.

Claudio Rossi; a blonde haired man that had an amiable face, but moved with the fluid grace of someone that had been trained extensively. He had greeted them when they arrived three days ago with a smile that was entirely too friendly. Anyone seeing him on the street would think he was just a regular citizen, and he'd lure them in with that charming smile as his hand slid a knife between their ribs. After all, he was the sole Assassin tasked with protecting the safe house, and scrutinizing anyone that came here.

After they had been given the third degree, the blonde man had become quite friendly and more so when he learned that this was their first mission outside of the city of Roma. "Bambino Assassini," he had cooed at them, making Desi sneer and Vittorio to be highly affronted.

Then he had given them the usual routes that the courier was likely to take, and they'd forgiven them.

"Are you finished?" he asked in surprise, but still with that affable smile. "Not bambinos then. Perhaps Assassini minori is a better term."

Desi bared her teeth in anger, slapped the letter down on the table they'd stolen and then turned to walk off. Claudio looked at Vittorio, who just shrugged and followed his teammate. The man had left shortly after that to deliver the information, so a more experienced team of Assassins could complete the mission of intercepting the shipment by pretending to be Templars. He informed them to rest up and that he would return in a day or two.

"We should probably head back to Roma," Desi murmured as they left the main room. It was late afternoon and if they left now they could make it halfway there in a day and a half. She wasn't too tired since she had mostly only distracted the courier while Vittorio had switched the message with their own.

Vittorio hummed in contemplation. "I have no objections," he said. He didn't state out loud that he wanted to get back to Roma as quickly as possible; back to Annetta.

Desi opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted when the door slammed open and an injured Assassin tumbled inside.

~o~

"I don't like this."

Vittorio glanced at Desideria as he checked his supplies before tomorrow morning's mission. "What is it?"

She shook her head as she stood at the window, looking outside and the late afternoon traffic down below on the street. "Nothing I can name, but something has my teeth on edge." Desi was nervously spinning a dagger within her hand without even looking at it.

"Is it Bastiano Pulci's story?" he inquired.

Bastiano Pulci was the Assassin that had arrived injured at the hideout less than half an hour before. He had told them when they had asked that he had been tracking his target when he'd been ambushed. Although he had managed to defeat the men, he hadn't gotten out unscathed, and his target had fled in the ensuing fight. The Assassin had come here as soon as possible to get medical treatment, and try and ask for help in locating his target.

Unfortunately for the man, Desideria and Vittorio were the only ones that had been there at the time. Claudio had not yet returned from delivering the information of the weapon's shipment. Although, the man had stopped sporting a defeated look when he'd discovered that Vittorio had trained with the Thieves' Guild since early adolescence, and that Desi had trained with the sword for many years. Also, she had been training for almost five months under the tutelage of a Master Assassin that was likely to become Mentor of the Italian Assassins.

"Maybe we should find another place to sleep for tonight, and have an alternate escape route in case the three of us are walking into a trap." Vittorio frowned at her precaution, but he nodded as he grabbed his bag to leave. At times, it was best to err on the side of caution.

~o~

_June 23, 1501_

Thus far, their mission had been a bust. After three days on a ship and a day on a pair of horses, they had finally arrived in Lisbon. The coastal capital city was truly a magnificent place. However, the main language spoken was Portuguese and their informant spoke very little Italian, but he did speak English and Severino could communicate with him to a certain extent. There was no need for much communication either way, since they had their orders and knew what had to be done.

There was a government official in the city that had allied with the Templar order. Due to this, he thought himself above the law, and that no one could touch him. He had taken to kidnapping traveling maidens and defiling them, and even a few from the poorer families in the city. They were usually too scared to say anything, but several cried out for justice and went unheard. Those that couldn't be silenced with money, were silenced permanently.

This is the reason Severino and Fabiola were here, but the first three days they had determined that getting near the man for a stealth assassination would be next to impossible. Neither Severino or Fabiola were good enough with a crossbow to kill him from a distance. Also, the man hardly left his heavily guarded home, and when he did, he was surrounded by no less than a dozen guards.

It seemed a bit excessive, but apparently he was very wealthy, and despite his low-rank position in the government, his wealth gave him a lot of power. So, they had been stuck waiting and watching for the last three days for an opening to strike.

Severino had been struck with inspiration last night as Fabiola had left the bath. She had discarded the uniform and had slipped into a nightgown, and hadn't cared that he was there since she obviously felt no attraction toward him. Fabiola's hair had been loose, the slightly wavy black hair curling at the ends. He'd found himself staring at her before she lifted caramel colored eyes to glare at him. "I have an idea," he had told her as her head tilted in confusion.

Now, here they were on their fourth day in the market, their recruit uniforms put away as Fabiola donned a light beige dress that was almost white. He was wearing regular clothes as well, and had traveling bags as they tried to find someone that spoke Italian. This was all for show, since Severino had seen the spotters almost immediately upon entering the market. Fabiola's hand had tightened against the back of his arm to indicate that she'd seen them as well.

It was his plan, but it still sickened him to be using Fabiola for bait. There was no other way, and needed to neutralize this miserable excuse of a human being so he couldn't hurt any more young women.

As for Fabiola, she wanted to be the one to personally kill this filthy pig. She knew what it felt like to be raped, and if she could stop it from happening to someone else, she'd do anything. After all, this is why she had joined the Brotherhood; besides not having anywhere else to go with them being fugitives.

It had been easy to get the dress and the slippers, and after Severino had gone off to steal his own clothes, he'd come back with the bags. She'd been surprised that they had clothes and other items inside that a traveling pair would need. Then they had played the part of travelers having come off the caravan, a pair of siblings. Now, they had moved to the market where they'd learn most of the maidens had been taken from, or while they were leaving it.

Fabiola had been doubtful at first that the spotters would take an interest in her, and Severino wondered if she was joking. When he'd looked up from the words she had written, he had realized that she was quite serious. He had stared at her in disbelief until she tapped the table in agitation.

"Just flash them those big eyes, and it will all work out," he had reassured her. Fabiola had eyed him with a skeptical look but nodded after a moment. Severino wondered if it was humility or very low self-worth. The girl was freaking gorgeous, possibly the best looking of the female recruits. Of course, he had only noticed it until last night since he had never seen her out of her uniform, and his affection lay with Desideria; even if he had also only noticed this.

Severino watched the spotters out of the corner of his eye as they would sporadically point out a girl, whisper among themselves before one or both would shake their heads. He saw the moment they noticed Fabiola and the woman's hand tightening painfully on his arm indicated that she had seen their attention turn toward her. Both men nodded and they made a signal and pointed Fabiola out to whoever was waiting for the signal.

He pretended to get frustrated with the man at the stall and grabbed their bags as they both moved off, Fabiola clinging to his arm. There were several men following them, making Severino tense the slightest bit. He didn't like this one bit. There were entirely too many of them. Also, Fabiola hadn't wanted them to find weapons on her, so she had none.

They left the market, his hands having a white-knuckled grip on the bags. A few moments later he felt them yank Fabiola away from him, and she gave a helpless cry that had his hackles rising. He knew she was acting, but he couldn't help lashing out as he knocked out one of their attackers with a single punch. Severino used the bags to trip them up as seven men rushed him.

He was knocked to the ground. The men were only using their bare hands at the moment, since this place was too public for them to risk killing him. However, he had no such restraints.

Severino managed to pull his dagger and impale the man on top of him, twisting the weapon as the man's body slumped on top of him. He shoved him away as the man's corpse rolled away, and Severino flipped onto his feet. As he straightened, he flung the dagger which killed a second man, and then kicked a third in the balls as the man crumpled with a howl of pain. He relinquished him of his sword, and while it wasn't perfectly balanced, it would do for now.

The last three came at him, but Severino made quick work of them in his anger. As the last corpse hit the ground, he strode toward the one he'd kicked between the legs and dragged him to his feet. "Where did they take her?" he snarled. Even if the man probably only spoke Portuguese, he understood the angry man and pointed to a house overlooking the ocean.

~o~

Fabiola had to pretend she was frightened as they dragged her into a waiting carriage. They were firm as they forced her inside, but made sure not to man-handle or injure her. She had struggled weakly and set a look of terror on her face, and they bought it. Luckily, none of them tried to touch her inappropriately, or she'd have blown her cover by killing them with their own knives.

When she was left alone in the carriage, she dropped the act and started to formulate a plan. She had honestly thought she wouldn't get this far, and maybe Severino had been right. Fabiola had been told she was ugly her whole life, so it was hard to believe that she was attractive.

She dismissed her thoughts and searched the inside of the carriage, but she found no weapons and the door was locked. Fabiola hadn't planned on fleeing either way, but having a weapon would have been more reassuring. Well, she'd just wait until they stopped and would make them drag her out, and she'd take a knife from the unlucky guard.

The carriage slowed and then came to a stop, and she curled against the corner and pretended to be scared again. "Venha aqui," the man with a scar across his left eye demanded after opening the door. She shook her head. "Venha aqui, sua garota estúpida!" the man growled; climbing in when she refused him again.

In the struggle, Fabiola was able to grab the dagger at his waist without him noticing, and hid it in an empty sheath strapped at her thigh she could reach through a cut in her skirts they hadn't found. They hadn't even bothered to search her for weapons, but it had been better not to have any, just in case.

She was dragged inside between two guards as her caramel eyes darted around rapidly to take in the placement of the guards, and how many she could see. Far too many for her to fight by herself, so she would have to flee instead of trying to fight her way out. She hoped Severino had managed to follow her, and that he got here before she was forced to kill the pig.

The inside of the house was lavish with expensive furniture and other items that probably cost a fortune. Fabiola was more interest in their weight. For example, the golden candle stick was heavy enough to knock someone else if she hit a person over the head, possibly kill them. Also, there were several pieces of art on the walls that had probably cost quite a bit, but would probably not make very good weapons.

As she was dragged past a particular painting, she was surprised to realize that it was 'The Birth of Venus" by Sandro Botticelli. From what her brother had told her, the painting had disappeared during the fires in Florence five years ago where many books, several paintings and other objects were condemned and burned as occasions of sin. It was believed that the painting had been burned, and yet here it was. Fabiola made a mental note to steal it before she left. It would be easy to cut it from the frame and roll it up.

She was distracted from her thoughts of thievery as a fat man walked out of one of the rooms to meet them. He was clearly shorter than her, and his jowls jiggled when he walked. Fabiola had known a kind butcher that had a chubby face and a round belly like this man, but he had always had a kind word and a smile for her. This man was nothing like that butcher as he leered at her and made nausea coil in her stomach.

"Muito lindo," he said with a grin as he ran a hand along the side of her face. Fabiola shuddered in disgust and wanted to cut his hand off. "Traga-a para minhas câmaras privadas." He snapped his fingers and moved off, back into the room he had come from, and she had a suspicion that it was his bedroom.

Her hand slipped through the opening in her skirts and closed around the dagger in the sheath strapped to her thigh. She saw the guard at her side glance her way, but before he could notice what she was doing, there came a great crash outside. They both looked toward the window as they spoke in Portuguese, and one of them moved forward to investigate. As he did, she drew the weapon, lifted her hand and cut the guard's throat. The man released her as his hands went to his throat as it gushed blood, eyes wide as he looked at her. As he collapsed, Fabiola rushed forward as the other turned at the noise and she lifted the dagger and plunged it up into the man's jaw.

His hands grabbed at her, fingers biting into her arms enough to leave bruises before she pulled the knife out and stabbed him through the throat. The hands fell away from her as he also crumpled, and Fabiola inhaled deeply. Her dress had gotten covered in blood and her hair had come undone, a splatter of crimson on her cheek.

This is the scene the fat man came upon when he returned to the room when his guards didn't follow with the girl. She turned to face him, the black strands of her hair framing her blood splattered features. He felt terror go through him as she lifted the bloody knife with a smile on her beautiful face. It was the last thing he ever saw.

When Fabiola was finished cutting the painting from the frame, she carefully rolled it up and then went hunting for something to take it in. The study produced a leather tube like case, shrugged and slid the painting inside. She hoped it wasn't damaged, since she was sure Augusto would mourn the damaging of such a nice painting. She strapped it to her back, having flung the dress off so she was only in her kirtle but didn't have time to worry about modesty.

Severino had pushed a cart of hay toward the gate after lighting it on fire. It distracted the guards since the fire had spread on the surrounding grass. Now the blaze was contained, and Fabiola couldn't dawdle any longer. She exited through the backdoor, paused in the shadow of the overhead roof when she saw the shadow of an archer. That meant he was right above her head.

Fabiola took a throwing knife from the bandoleer she'd stolen from one of the guards, inhaled and ran forward, turning and throwing the projectile. The man was startled into inaction at her appearance that he had no time to react as the throwing knife embedded into his chest. He grunted in pain before he fell forward over the side and landed with a loud thud at her feet. She had no time to wait as she hurried to the gate, found it locked, so was forced to climb it with some difficulty.

Finally, she was on the other side and almost stabbed Severino when he appeared at her side. He held his hands up and she lowered her weapon. The man gave the painting a curious glance and nothing more before he motioned for her to follow him. She swallowed, trying to calm her shaking hands as she ran after the man. Behind them, there were shouts as someone discovered the corpse of their master.

~o~

It was early the next morning that they met up with Bastiano. "Where did the two of you go off to last night?" the stocky man asked with a frown.

Desideria and Vittorio had come up with a plausible reason for this, but wondered why the man had gone looking for them last night. "There was some minor details in our last mission that had to be taken care of." Desi and Vittorio had met up with the man in front of the safe house, and for reasons she couldn't name, the building looked ominous for some reason.

"Did you want to come inside and eat breakfast?" he inquired with a neutral expression.

When the two recruits refused, Bastiano gave a curt nod and started to lead them off. Vittorio and Desideria; Servitore and Milite respectively, looked at one another with a frown on each of their faces. _'Careful,'_ Desi mouthed as Vittorio nodded.

~o~

They arrived in the middle of the city and a large compound. "My informants say that he's inside there," he whispered to the two recruits. There was a single four-man patrol moving around the property and two guards at the gate. They evaded the guards at the gate by going over the wall at the back of the compound, easily avoiding the patrol moving around. As they entered the building, Desideria felt a shudder race down her whole body.

As for Vittorio, he had started to notice that the man moved pretty well for someone that was supposedly injured. So, as he tried to lead them down into a basement with seemingly no exits, the male recruit snorted and kicked him in the back.

Bastiano cursed them as he tumbled down the stone stairs before he landed with a sickening crunch. Then several armed men rushed up the stairs. "Figlio di puttana," Desi snarled, tossing down several smoke bombs. As the men were stalled while they coughed, momentarily stunned and blind, the two recruits took that time to flee the building.

However, they were intercepted by the patrol and the two guards that had been at the gate; that was six. Vittorio grit his teeth when they were joined by the six men that had come from the basement, and now they were outnumbered twelve to two. Desideria gave the other a grim look before she pulled her sword from the sheath. "Fino alla morte," she said with a feral grin.

Vittorio gave a curt nod as he drew his own sword. "Fino alla morte," he agreed. The men rushed them as the two recruits lifted their swords to defend themselves.

~o~

Niccolò Machiavelli walked down the stairs into the safe house, and with most of the recruits gone his footsteps seemed to echo. He found it quite disturbing to have the place so empty, and wondered where Ezio was at. As he moved further down and into the main room, he heard muttering and glanced at the big table in the corner that had several old rolls of parchment, and also papers scattered with all sorts of writings in them.

And sitting in the middle of all that was Ezio Auditore da Firenze who was even now scribbling down on a piece of paper in front of him as he muttered to himself. He didn't even seem to noticed that Niccolò had entered. As for Niccolò, he thought that Ezio had gone off to meet with Egidio Troche.

The man moved closer, about to ask him why he hadn't left yet, but one of the sheets caught his attention. Niccolò picked it up and saw that it was calculations of the estimate of how long it would take to get to Lisbon and back, with a two day period spend in the city. He frowned and picked up several more pieces of papers as he looked over them and saw that one was for Firenze, and also the area where there were reports that bandits in league with the Templars had been attacking traveling caravans.

"Ezio," he started, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The man lifted his head to look at him in confusion. "Do you have the money for Egidio Troche to take for The Banker?"

Ezio motioned to the small chest at his feet, but he made no move to leave as he bent back over his latest calculation; the assassination of a wealthy business man that had dealings with Agostino Chigi, the Pope's money-lender.

Niccolò inhaled and tossed the sheet in his hand onto the table. "Ezio...the mission?" he stressed. The man lifted his head again, blinked and then looked indecisive before he nodded. He stood and took the chest filled with the money and left the safe house quickly. "Honestly," he huffed, seeing that the sheet he'd been working on had an estimate that the recruit should have returned by now; yesterday to be precise.

"He over-estimates their skills," Niccolò muttered, taking each sheet and re-did the calculations. However, he did it taking into account the recruits skill level. The one sent on the lone mission should be arriving tomorrow or perhaps the next day. He was sure the two sent to Lisbon would arrive by the end of the month. As for the ones that had gone to Firenze... he'd been informed of something most sinister via carrier pigeon. Well, it's best that he hadn't told Ezio of it for the moment, since he had enough to think about with the mission he was currently undertaking. He quickly re-did the calculation of the Firenze mission, and it came out as them arriving in the next few days. At least, Niccolò hoped they returned.

Ezio was clearly worried about his recruits, but had sent them on missions at Machiavelli's encouragement. They hadn't had missions outside of Roma yet, and the scholar had felt that they needed to gain the experience. While Ezio agreed with him, he had been hesitant, and especially since he had decided to switch them up from their usual partners. Well, the missions had been simple enough, even the assassination of the official in Lisbon. Their information suggested that he was a low-level bureaucrat, and thus would have little protection.

Niccolò snorted as he tossed the sheet back on top of the other new calculations, and hoped that when Ezio returned, he'd see them and be able to relax a bit. He hoped no one outside of the Brotherhood ever realized how much of a mother hen the man was when it came to his recruits. It'd be quite embarrassing for the Order.

And not to mention, that it was something that could be used against him.

~o~

Desideria felt Vittorio's back pressed against hers as she panted in exertion and allowed herself a moment to lean against the man's sturdier frame. The other recruit was also breathing hard and felt him lean back a bit as well.

"Are you hurt?" she asked only loud enough for him to hear.

"No," he quickly whispered. His hand moved back toward hers, and she caught his fingers as they wrapped around the round ball within her hands. "The last one."

She gripped it in a white knuckled grip as she inhaled deeply. "On three," she warned. Vittorio nodded as Desideria inhaled, fingers tightening in anticipation. "Don't do anything stupid." His snort was her only answer. "Three!"

Desideria slammed the smoke down at their feet as the remaining eight guards rushed them. While the men staggered to a halt and coughed on the smoke, the recruits fled the compound by using some crates to jump over the wall. They heard the guards shout behind them but they continued, fleeing into the city streets. Both of them turned the corner at the next street. "To the docks!" she gasped and he changed direction to where she indicated.

She had paid a man to have a boat ready in the harbor waiting for them, but they would have to swim. They pushed their bodies as hard as they could as they heard their pursuers behind them still. Desi could feel her lungs burning and a stitch formed at her side, but knew they couldn't stop and by his heavy breathing she could tell that Vittorio wasn't faring any better.

Another corner and they would clear the buildings, but someone came from the alleyway they were passing and slammed into the female recruit. Desi and the guard crashed into some crates with the man on top of her, she kicked him off her and into Vittorio's arms as he reached around and slit his throat. She rolled to her feet and drew her sword as Vittorio did the same when they were surrounded.

"Any ideas?" he asked as he swung his sword when one of the men got too close. A growl was his response as he chuckled despite the situation they were in. "I'm not Severino. I don't understand your grunts and growls." They both had to defend, incapacitating their opponents quickly before the others could take advantage while they were engaged.

Desi spotted the solution, a pulley system they were using to lift several heavy crates secured by a net. "There," she shouted before running forward, flipping over the guard in her way. While the man was distracted by the unexpected feat, Vittorio ran him through with his sword, twisting so they switched positions before he shoved him off his blade. Vittorio ran after Desi, saw her intention and increased his stance so he jumped up onto the ledge first, grabbed the rope and then threw out his other arm. Desideria threw herself against his side, and when she felt his arm crush her to his taller body, she cut the rope. The boxes fell as both recruits were lifted quickly, and then they crashed onto the rooftop above in a tangle of arms and legs.

The female recruit groaned in pain as they disentangled one another. "That was a great idea," she muttered.

Vittorio righted his mask as he stood. "It was _your_ idea." A glare was his response, but he ignored it as he glanced over the side. "Time to go." The guards were entering the building, and it wouldn't be long before they reached the roof.

"This way," she indicated, sprinting toward the edge of the roof and then jumping onto the adjacent one as Vittorio followed on her heels. They free ran across the rooftops, meeting little resistance besides an archer that was felled with a throwing dagger. As they reached the end of the buildings and the stands along the dock, Vittorio pointed out a cart of hay near by. He urged her on as he glanced back in worry, seeing that their pursuers were almost upon them.

When Desi rolled out of the cart, he jumped as well and there was enough hay left over that he wasn't killed, but he hissed in pain as his knee banged against the side of the cart. Desi helped him to his feet, almost dragging him up as he couldn't hold too much weight on his knee. "No time to take a rest," she warned, darting away as he followed much slower this time since he was limping.

Finally, they reached the end of the docks and she quickly searched the horizon before spotting a small boat afloat with no on appearing to be at the helm. "Time to swim," she called with a sardonic grin as he groaned in annoyance. She flashed him an amused smirk before she dived into the water and Vittorio soon joined her. They both swam as fast as they were able too, the woman overtaking him due to his knee. He heard shouts behind them from the dock moments before something hit the water to his right.

They were shooting at them with their crossbows!

Before he could call out a warning, he felt a projectile impact his arm as he screamed and dirty water quickly filled his mouth. He yanked his mask away as he coughed and gagged, shuddering in revulsion and tried not to puke of he'd be swimming in it. Desi stopped and turned toward him, but he waved her on with his good arm. They needed to get out of range.

Desi made it to the boat first, clamoring on as she dripped water everywhere, and then she turned and dragged an equally wet Vittorio on. Vittorio's arm was limp at his side from the pain, and without warning Desi pulled the bolt out as he cried out. Luckily the shaft and tip was smooth and didn't have an arrow head design. There were some that had jagged shafts to cause the most damage, and Desi was sure Vittorio's arm would have been seriously injured or lost the arm completely with those.

She bandaged it tightly to staunch the flow of blood before moving to the back of the boat, pulling up the anchor and started rowing. "Are they following us?" he panted, laying on his back with his knees bent, since the boat wasn't that big. They last thing they needed was to have to outrun enemy boats.

Desi pushed a hand through her wet hair, curly strands now limp against her face. For once, her hair was behaving, but she knew that once it had dried it'd return to being fizzy. "No," she replied, glancing back just in case. "I paid the thieves extra to sabotage their boats. They're probably having a nice swim right about now."

Vittorio barked out a laugh. "Well, at least now they're as wet as us." He hadn't bothered to pull his mask back up, since he didn't want to have the wet material against his mouth and nose. Besides, Desideria and him had just been through hell and she had saved him many times, and he had done the same for her. So, why hide his face from someone whom ==he was shocked to realize== he trusted with his life.

They would need to get a message to the main headquarters quickly to let them know that either a Templar was posing as Bastiano Pulci, or the Assassin had betrayed the Brotherhood. Either way, any safe houses in the city would have to be relocated, and soon. It couldn't be risked that another Assassin wound up walking into a trap. They might not be as lucky as they had been.

Vittorio didn't pretend that it had been skill, since they might have trained with the Thieves' Guild but training as an Assassin was something altogether harder. "We should send a message to Claudio Rossi." Desi hadn't turned away from steering the boat, but he saw as she nodded. As soon as they reached a safer part of the city, they'd find an Assassin controlled pigeon coop and send the message from there. They just hoped that the man got it before he walked into an ambush.

~o~

_July 24, 1501_

Ugo was the first to return, since his mission had gone off with a hitch, which he was grateful for. He wasn't use to stealth kills, but the last month of training under Ezio ==when he could spare the time== had been most helpful. The man went in search of the Maestro but hadn't found him, so had decided to hold onto his mission report until he saw him.

The man moved upstairs and to the medical room, knocking lightly before hearing Bianca's voice calling for him to enter. "Oh, welcome back," the woman said with a small smile. However, it disappeared when he took out the bottle of poison and offered it to her. "Keep it." Her voice sounded strained, and Yeoman was quiet and still in the corner of the room. "You may need it later, but toss it out after a month as it would have lost its potency by that point... make sure you keep it sealed tightly."

Ugo searched her face a moment before he nodded and put it back in his pouch, wrapped in spare bandages, and tied with a bit of string. He was about to leave when he saw an older woman at the door, and remembered that this was the child's nanny. "Has anyone else arrived?" she asked anxiously, the little boy clutching at her skirts. It was the first time the woman had spoken to Ugo.

"No, I'm the only one that's returned so far." She opened her mouth but he cut her off as he shook his head. "And I haven't any idea how long it will take them to complete their missions and return." The man didn't add the part he'd been thinking, 'if they return', since it was always a distinct possibility that not even Ugo wanted to say out loud. Ghita still hadn't either and she was on the mission with the boy's uncle, and so many things could go wrong with a mission outside of the city; any mission.

He was just thankful that Bianca had insisted they learn a bit of medical knowledge. It wasn't as thorough as hers, but it was just enough for a patch up until they could get to a dottore. Just that small amount of knowledge could save their lives on the road.

Ugo saw the woman's worried face, and the little boy peering up at him expectantly. "They'll be fine," he said firmly. Caterina; remembering that this was her name, inhaled and nodded. She thanked him as she turned to leave. The little boy glanced back at him and waved at him. Ugo smiled and returned the gesture as they both disappeared out of sight.

He glanced at Bianca who had pressed her lips together in an unnamed emotion. She turned away and went back to what she had been doing, and Yeoman was still quiet in his bed. Ugo turned back to the spot where the woman and child had been, and hoped, for that boy's sake, that his mother and uncle returned unharmed. As for him, he sent his own silent plea toward the Heavens; for Ghita to return safely back to him.

For now, there was work to be done. Hopefully, it would keep him occupied and not think of what might happen to his fellow recruits.

_'Ghita, please be safe...'_ -

~o~

**Translations:  
** Assassini minori - _junior Assassins  
_ Venha aqui - _come here  
_ sua garota estúpida - _you stupid girl  
_ Muito lindo - _Very beautiful  
_ Traga-a para minhas câmaras privadas - _Bring her to my private chambers  
_ Fino alla morte - _Until death_

 


End file.
